


Season’s End in the Shielded Valley

by YamBits



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mid-Canon, Rivendell | Imladris, Samfro Week, Samfro Week Autumn 2019, Sick Character, masturbation (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/pseuds/YamBits
Summary: While Frodo recovers in Rivendell he has time to take stock of changes between himself and Sam.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Illegible_Scribble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) in the [SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
Changes, part of the SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019  
For Thursday, September 26th.
> 
> Thank you to [Illegible_Scribble ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) for wonderful helpful beta work! And thank you to [Illegible_Scribble ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) and [acidicgumdrops ](https://acidicgumdrops.tumblr.com/) for the seasonal samfro event.

In a small corner of the world, tucked down in a valley yet untouched by shadow, golden spires rose above leafy treetops. The trees in this place were still yellow and red, holding out against the changing season with a brightness that shone against the dark stone cliffs above. The whole valley echoed with the sound of rushing water, tumbling down white and cold and fresh from cliffs above, before winding through the valley, sliding past the towers and pavilions, and slipping down under the arching bridges of Rivendell. 

As the light of day faded in the valley, lanterns were lit, so that the parapets were washed in warm golden light, as the stars emerged. In years past, voices and song might have echoed off the stone walls, but there was quiet in the valley tonight. The shadow may not have entered the last homely house, but it was out there, waiting and watching for the small wounded visitor who had passed under the gate two weeks prior. 

In the time since his arrival in Rivendell, Frodo had slowly felt his strength returning. On this night, he had spent the evening with his uncle, eating, listening and even singing a little when he had the heart for it. As the night drew on, Bilbo suggested they retire to his room to finish the evening with a chat, as had become their habit.

They settled in Bilbo’s study, a cozy hobbit sized room with rich furnishings. Nearly a week ago when Frodo had entered the study for the first time he had realized how much he missed rooms and furniture made for his own size. On the small table were two mugs, steaming and waiting for them, and Frodo again found himself marveling at the hospitality of this place. Bilbo eased into a plump reading settee close to the fireplace and motioned for Frodo to sit beside him. Frodo gave a faint smile and settled by his uncle, handing him one of the drinks. They were hot toddies, each with a cinnamon stick.

“What a nice bookshelf. I think I’ve only just noticed,” Frodo said, pointing across the room. 

“Yes. Some of mine, the few I brought with me, but most are books the elves bring me. I’ve even kept up translating a bit,” he said, “And what of Bag End’s library? I should like to see it now. I’m sure you’ve added on to it?”

“Yes,” Frodo said feeling pleased, “Whenever I could. I had Sam put in two more shelves you know, built into that bare wall on the west side of the study.” Bilbo smiled.

“I knew my books would be in good hands,” he said, then wrinkled his brow, “Sam told me you never opened your library to him. Well rather, I gathered that between the lines, at least. You know him.” Frodo looked up from his drink.

“My library? I didn’t know he was interested,” he said. Bilbo snorted. 

“Oh come now, don’t you remember the way that lad looked when I invited him over for stories and writing lessons?” Frodo leaned back and frowned.

“Yes when he was a child, but lads grow out of that. I thought he had. He never said anything.”

“I told the boy to ask you for books but he must have been too shy. It slipped my mind to mention it to you,” Bilbo said. Frodo squirmed uncomfortably. In recent weeks he had become more aware of Sam’s enthusiasm for the songs and stories of Elves and Men and he had felt a pang of regret at not engaging with him on songs and stories, as his uncle had. 

“It is a shame, and I’m sorry for it,” he said finally but Bilbo waved his hand.

“It’s alright. I’m glad to see that he still enjoys a good story, and can put together songs of his own. I never taught him that, you know.”

“Did he sing his troll song for you yet?” Frodo asked, murmuring into his toddy. 

“Troll song?” Bilbo brightened, “No. I will have to pry that out of him.”

“Be gentle,” Frodo cautioned and Bilbo laughed. 

“I will,” he said, adding, “He’s grown a lot, hasn’t he? He’s not the little boy I bounced on my knee and told tales to, that’s for sure, and he’s not the young lad I left in charge of the gardens either,” Bilbo paused and sighed, “I am glad he came with you.”

“Yes,” Frodo said, perplexed. Certainly Sam had been a favorite of Bilbo’s, and Frodo was sure that Bilbo had missed the boy, but he had never talked at length about him. But then, Bilbo was changed from the spry mischievous uncle he had known at Bag End. 

“At any rate, my ultimate goal seems to have been achieved,” Bilbo said as if to himself. Frodo smiled, curious. 

“Ultimate goal. How ominous,” he chuckled, “Just what is this ultimate goal?” Bilbo looked up at him.

“I meant for you two to be close and to depend on one another,” he said. 

“Oh?” Frodo said looking at him, feeling his bewilderment deepen.

“You have to admit he is handy,” Bilbo said as he drew out a pipe and ran his fingers over it out of habit. 

“Yes,” Frodo said slowly. He could hardly deny it after telling Bilbo the tale of their adventure to Rivendell. 

“And Lobelia couldn’t stand to see you playing in the mud with the gardener’s lad,” Bilbo said grinning. Frodo laughed.

“Is that why you wanted us to be friends? To annoy Aunt Lobelia?” he asked. Bilbo shrugged.

“One of the appeals,” he mused, “And you’ve always cared for one another, of course,” Bilbo continued absently. Frodo paused, wrinkling his brow.

“I suppose before leaving the Shire I wouldn’t have counted him among my close friends, but I am certainly fond of him,” he said, still feeling lost at the turn in conversation. Bilbo looked up sharply at him.

“Don’t be an ass, Frodo. That boy loves you. Always has,” he grumbled, “And I would be very surprised if you hadn’t begun to return the feeling.” Frodo blinked in surprise. 

“Ah… er, well,” he said uncomfortably. Bilbo snorted.

“I see you still hold those silly Brandybuck notions about expressing affection. You don’t have to be so cursed reserved all the time.” Frodo gaped for a moment, then shut his mouth with a snap and glared at his uncle.

“You’re one to talk,” he said in a low voice, “while you were in the Shire I can count on one hand the times you said anything heartfelt to me. For heaven sakes, you asked me to move to Bag End because you said it would save the trouble of celebrating separate birthdays.” Bilbo looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh?” he said, then seemed to reconsider, frowning. “I am sorry about that my lad,” he said quietly, “I suppose I have no business criticizing you for something I practiced nearly all my life. I’m only frank now because of the company I’ve kept these past years; Elves can be aloof, but they are not shy about speaking their minds.” Bilbo went back to fingering the pipe and staring into the fire. “I did hurt you, leaving like that didn’t I? I’m sorry. But I didn’t leave for lack of loving you, I left because I’m a selfish old ass,” he lapsed into silence. Frodo’s face burned as he gripped his cup as if it were a lifeline. He wanted to say something desperately but his throat had closed. Bilbo reached over and put an arm around his nephew’s shoulder.

“Poor lad,” he said, “I really am very proud of you, don’t doubt that.” Frodo gave him a weak smile. “Tell me,” Bilbo said, “if Sam wasn’t counted among your close friends then how did he become the first choice as your traveling companion? I didn’t quite get all the details in the story Gandalf told me.” Frodo suspected he had, but indulged his uncle in retelling bits of the story.

“Oh, Gandalf caught Sam spying at the window and hauled him inside and then told him he was to come with me,” Frodo said and laughed, “I couldn’t believe it. Imagine, inviting the gardener on an adventure just like that! I thought Gandalf was joking at first, or just trying to scare Sam into keeping quiet. But then he was serious, and so was Sam. I couldn’t quite understand it, but I didn’t object,” Frodo said frowning.

“You wanted the company?” Bilbo asked. Frodo nodded, not looking up, “Hm, then he wasn’t altogether just your gardener.” Frodo gave him a look.

“He’s never been just my gardener,” he said quietly, “I might not have said friend until now, but he’s been a presence at Bag End. A comfort, I suppose.”

“And now?” Bilbo asked.

“Well,” Frodo scuffed his feet, feeling a strange wave of annoyance. The truth was that the journey had shown him things he didn’t really care to discuss, but Bilbo was looking at him again and Frodo felt he owed something of the truth to his uncle so he continued, “I’m discovering that still,” he said and straightened. “What is this all about? You’ve talked nothing but Sam tonight.”

“The product of your selfish uncle’s affections,” Bilbo said sighing, “I want you to have what you need on this journey; I want you to have your there-and-back-again, mostly the back again. This is quite all my fault after all and if I can’t go with you I want someone I can trust to stick by your side, and I can’t see anyone better than Sam, though I see that your cousins love you dearly as well,” he paused rubbing his cheek, “I don’t know if Sam understands the gravity of the situation, but I have hope in the loyalty he seems to have to you. And I believe that loyalty must be apparent to him by now.” Frodo was silent, staring into the fire, a flush colouring his cheeks.

“Sam didn’t need the journey to show him anything,” he murmured, “and he wasn’t shy about telling me either. I just didn’t understand.”

“What did he say?” Bilbo asked. 

“Before we left the Shire, we met the Elves, remember I told you? In Woody End, and I asked Sam if he wouldn’t like to go home, now that he had seen elves and his wish had come true, but he told me point blank that he would follow me to the moon and that the Riders would have to go through him to get to me.”

“Heavens,” Bilbo said, looking pleased. Frodo looked at him sourly.

“That’s all very well, and maybe dear Sam means every word of it, but if he does and follows through, it puts me in a terrible position of deciding his fate. I’m responsible for him and my cousins, especially Pippin. How can I ask them to go with me into such danger?”

“You’re not responsible for them any more than anyone else,” Bilbo put in stubbornly, “Have some faith in your friends; they understand the risks, or at least are devoted enough to you that risks don’t figure in. And frankly, my lad, you need them.”

“You never needed anyone on your adventure,” Frodo murmured. Bilbo stared at him.

“Of course I did. There were thirteen dwarfs and a wizard along for the trip if you remember.”

“Not other hobbits,” Frodo said. “I don’t lack for wizards and heroes volunteering to protect me, but if I were really strong I wouldn’t let Sam and Merry and Pippin go. You didn’t take your friends along and put them in danger just because you were scared and lonely.” Bilbo sat back and considered him for a moment.

“I didn’t take any friends with me because I hadn’t any. Or at least,” Bilbo amended, “not any friends who would stand with me through danger. And anyway,” he fixed Frodo with a stern look, “I was drawn into adventure rather unexpectedly, thanks to our dear old friend Gandalf. I hadn’t any time to think about what I might or might not need, friends or pocket-handkerchiefs alike. Your adventure is quite a different matter unfortunately.” 

“But Bilbo-” Frodo began.

“Listen to me, my lad,” Bilbo interrupted, “You left all that nonsense about your position back in the Shire. Out here it is different; Elves and Men don’t see you as the wise eldest in charge of the others. To them you’re all foolish little creatures that eat and smoke too much, in need of constant guarding.” Frodo sighed.

“Yes, Strider was polite enough not to say it, but I’m certain that was his initial impression of us,” he said dryly. Bilbo chewed the end of his pipe and stuck his chin out.

“Ah well, the dwarves used to call me a useless bundle,” he said, “until I proved my worth. I’m sure it will be the same for you.” Frodo stared at the hearthrug. Bilbo’s worth had mostly come from his use of the Ring, and Frodo had no intention of using that. No, his use would be much darker; it was his lot to be destroyed or corrupted by the trinket at his neck, unless he was by some chance able to destroy it first. But he didn’t want to bring all this up to Bilbo. It would only make him sad, or worse, bring back the strangeness in his uncle’s eyes when he spoke of the Ring. So he returned to Bilbo’s favored topic of the night. 

“I admit I took Sam for granted back in the Shire,” he said, “My cousins too, for that matter,” Frodo frowned in annoyance, “I never dreamed Sam would spy on me, encouragement from my cousins or no.”

“Is it spying if he did it for your own good?” Bilbo asked with a smile. 

“Yes,” Frodo said sternly and frowned as Bilbo laughed. 

“Don’t you go being hard on him,” Bilbo scolded. 

“I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“I plan to tell him that it was a good job,” Bilbo said brightly. Frodo rolled his eyes. Of course Bilbo would praise him for that.

“Not too good. He got caught.” 

“He got caught by Gandalf,” Bilbo waved, “wizards are cursed hard to burgle from.”

“And how would you-” Frodo broke off as he watched Bilbo purse his lips and put on his best dignified expression. Frodo groaned. “You’ve tried it,” he said with little surprise. 

“Done it too. Though he may have been humoring me a few of those times,” Bilbo admitted, “Ah well.” Frodo laughed. 

“I always knew you were a rascal. But I never suspected Sam was too.”

“You just better keep a close eye on him then,” Bilbo said, sending him a gleeful look. “If it makes you feel any better I misjudged your Merry and Pippin, especially Merry,” Bilbo said rubbing his chin, “Pippin I can say was just a babe when I left but I don’t quite have that excuse with Merry. I thought he would be an empty headed socialite playing pranks and never amounting to anything.”

“The Master of Buckland never amounting to anything?” Frodo mused. Bilbo made an impatient noise.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well he was a tween then. He has grown up quite a bit since you left,” Frodo said comfortingly.

“They all have,” Bilbo said meditatively and slumped back, “It’s been so strange to see them, looking so grown up,” he mused, “They were sitting around your bed when I came in. They looked hardened by fear and the journey and yet,” he paused, “there was such affection in their faces when they looked at you.” Frodo felt heat rush into his cheeks again. Bilbo smiled, “Sorry my lad,” he said.

“That’s hardly something to apologize for saying,” Frodo murmured. There was a knock at the door and it quietly opened to reveal Sam looking in, his eyes slightly anxious.

“Good evening, sirs,” he said. Bilbo grinned at him.

“Hello Sam, you must be here to collect Frodo. Is this a new habit of yours?” he asked. Sam went predictably red. 

“Now, now uncle,” Frodo said, “Sam is just keeping an eye on me, so I don’t do anything foolish; in the same way I keep an eye on him because I’ve discovered how wiley he can be,” he said. Sam frowned looking baffled and embarrassed.

“Erm,” he said finally.

“Go on Sam, take Frodo away. He’s spouting nonsense,” Bilbo said gruffly, “Good night lads.”

“Good night sir,” Sam said. Frodo sighed and stood, stretching as he did, then bent and kissed his uncle’s cheek.

“Good night Bilbo,” Frodo said and followed Sam. Outside in the corridor it was dark, with only faint light from torches on the wall and starlight streaming in through the large open window arches. Frodo trotted along slightly behind Sam. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I was trying to put you at ease with that joke, but I just embarrassed you, didn’t I?”

“Oh I suppose I deserve it,” Sam mumbled, “Anyway, don’t you worry none.”

“You know, I’m not so tired tonight,” Frodo said. He felt bright and giddy. The whiskey had gone to his head. Sam glanced back at him, looking somewhat skeptical.

“Is that so, sir?” he said.

“Well, I was just thinking, it might be fun to explore Rivendell by starlight. What do you think?” he asked.

“Now?” Sam asked.

“Why not?” Frodo asked and stepped beside Sam and took his arm, “There’s no reason not to.” Sam looked as if he could have provided a sizable list of reasons why not, but he let himself be led down the hallway.

“I’ve so enjoyed talking to Bilbo again,” Frodo said after a moment, “It’s almost worth all the danger and darkness to come to a place like this and see him. It doesn’t seem quite real.” Frodo lapsed into silence. Sam ducked his head shyly.

“I know what you mean,” he said, “It’s so wonderful here, more than I dreamed of.” Frodo glanced at him in the darkness and smiled encouragingly. Throughout the journey he had tried to draw Sam out of the polite quietness he took on too much of the time. Of course, he grumbled along with the rest when they were tired and hot and spoke up when he felt particularly strongly about something, but he still hesitated when speaking in front of Pippin and Merry, and to a lesser extent, Frodo himself. But he was gradually relaxing. Frodo could almost feel the wall of Gamgee deference weakening, especially when it was just the two of them. 

“I used to go down to the old mill ruin,” Sam said suddenly, “and pretend it was Rivendell from Mr. Bilbo’s tales, as it was a pretty green place with a creek running by it. I’d pretend I was there reading out moonrunes and studying secret maps.” Frodo grinned.

“It is a pleasant spot. I’ve gone down there to read on several occasions,” his smile faded and he paused a moment. Sam glanced over at him. “Bilbo scolded me for not opening my library to you,” Frodo continued in a more subdued tone, “I would have you know, if you’d asked, but I should have done it on my own. I was thoughtless about it.”

“Oh, no sir,” Sam said, “Mr. Bilbo did tell me to ask, and I never did, so you ought not to hold yourself to account for that.” Frodo smiled at him, but looking at Sam now he couldn’t help but feel it had been a shame he hadn’t spent more time with him in the Shire, especially talking to him about tales and the wider world. 

He hadn’t wanted to discuss it with Bilbo but over the past few weeks he had begun to feel not only a new awareness for Sam but also a sort of warmth, more intense than he would have readily admitted. At first he had believed it was only because Sam reminded him so of home, and he was missing the Shire. That was true, but it didn’t seem to account for the entirety of the new affection.

_Perhaps I’m only now getting to truly know him,_ Frodo thought. That realization had hit him after Woody End when Sam talked of their journey. To see that familiar face grow thoughtful and his eyes take on such a strange far-away pensive look had startled Frodo and made him reevaluate the hobbit he thought he knew. Whatever the case, it hadn’t changed his interactions with Sam but it had caused him to develop a heightened awareness and attention when it came to Sam, as if he were afraid he would overlook something else.

After he had been stabbed this awareness had only grown. He had always known where Sam was; behind him, trotting along, or walking ahead, discussing something with Strider. He began to notice that Sam sometimes drifted to his side, or would come and lead Bill slower over rough terrain, always without prompting he had done whatever he could to be of comfort. And Sam had been the best at easing the darkness and mist that had hung in front of his eyes as his wound festered. On those terrifying nights, Sam had bathed his wound and packed kingsfoil poultices over it. And he’d held Frodo, kept him warm.

When he awoke in Rivendell and Sam wasn’t there he had felt something amiss, and almost immediately had asked, “Where’s Sam?” Gandalf had looked amused, he thought, and wondered if the wizard guessed at the attachment he had developed. He thought it likely, since Gandalf had an annoying ability to work out embarrassing details. And when Gandalf said that he spoke in his sleep, Frodo felt a stab of discomfort as Gandalf raised his eyebrows and gave a slight smile. 

Frodo had tightened his grip on Sam’s hand, he realized, and relaxed his hold. Sam made no reaction to show that he had noticed, but Frodo had learned Sam noticed almost everything.

“Have you been out this way sir?” Sam asked, nodding to a doorway, “It’s a lovely place by day. Just beyond there, there’s a waterfall and a bridge.”

“Then let’s go and see it,” Frodo said, his voice quiet. They turned and made their way down a narrower path, away from the torchlight. Out here the ground was pale in moonlight and the sound of the river grew louder. Frodo spotted the moving water, tumbling gently between large smooth rocks.

“Let’s go out there, on the rocks,” he said. Sam looked out at them distrustfully. Frodo laughed and said, “Technically you’d still be on solid ground, much better than being in a boat at any rate.”

“They might be a bit slick,” Sam said slowly, his brow furrowed, “And it’s dark.”

“We won’t go on any wet rocks, just the wide flat solid ones. Our sure feet and sharp eyes make us much better at this sort of thing than Men are. And if something were to happen I imagine a cry from either of us would cause twenty elves to come flying to our aid.”

“Well,” Sam said looking slightly mollified.

“Come on Sam, you’ve cross many rivers since you left the Shire and you’ve always come out alright.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said sounding not altogether like he believed it was wise to tempt a river unnecessarily but he gave a faint smile of acquiesces and followed Frodo when he hopped out onto one of the closer rocks. Frodo had always felt such a sense of calm sitting on river rocks in the sunshine, and he was delighted that nightfall did not diminish the peace. Being out in the middle of the water like this, looking up at the hills on either side of the valley where a thick blanket of trees was a beautiful sight in the moonlight. Frodo sat crossing his legs and breathed the crisp air deeply.

His motives for bringing Sam out into the middle of the river weren’t altogether aesthetic. His talk with Bilbo, combined with the whiskey, had left him feeling sentimental and he was afraid he might say something silly. If so, he didn’t want to be overheard, as he suspected the elves kept a close unobserved eye on him. Sam stared around them at the cascades of water further upstream and the foam that drifted past their rock.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. And he said it with that same soft pensive voice Frodo was discovering Sam only used when he had been touched deeply by some wonder or mystery of the world. Frodo glanced at him and grinned.

“Worth a bit of a risk then?” he asked. Sam ducked his head, smiling to himself.

“Imagine what my Gaffer’d say about a place like this, ‘too noisy by half and all the water fussing for nothing’.” Frodo laughed at the impression.

“Your Gaffer wouldn’t say anything about it, because we’d never get him within a mile of a real river,” Frodo mused. 

“That’s so,” Sam said, his tone quiet and a little downcast. Frodo grimaced, silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry you won’t be going back to him the way we thought,” he said. Sam looked at him.

“No sir, I told you I’ve a job to do. The Gaffer and the Shire can just wait a bit till we’re done,” he said closing his eyes. Frodo put his arms behind him and leaned back to look at the stars.

“I’m dreading seeing him again,” he said, “When he discovers I’ve run off with his son and set him traipsing over foreign lands and out into the middle of a river no less, well he’s going to have some words for Mr. Frodo Baggins and no mistake.” Sam chuckled.

“He might at that. But we had best keep the river bit dark. No use in upsetting the old fellow.”

“Hm,” Frodo sighed and leaned all the way back, until he lay on his back, his arms behind his neck, staring up. Sam looked up as well and a silence stretched between them.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Frodo said finally. Sam opened his mouth to say something but stopped as he looked down and met Frodo’s eyes. He closed his mouth and swallowed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. Frodo reached out and clasped Sam’s hand again, then closed his eyes. He let the silence stretch again as peace settled over him.

“Sir,” Sam said after a moment, a slight strain in his voice, “I’m sorry I wasn’t more use on the way here, but I’m going to be better help I promise. At least,” he ducked his head, “At least I’m going to try.” Frodo opened his eyes and sat up, staring at Sam.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, “You’ve been nothing but a help.” But this was evidently the wrong thing to say. Sam looked sick and hung his shoulders.

“I didn’t like Farmer Maggot but if we hadn’t gone with him then those things would have likely caught us. I didn’t trust Strider, told you not to take him with us and we’d have never made it without him. And I let you get stabbed- stood there like a goose and let it happen. No, sir, I wasn’t much help at all and you needn’t try and spare my feelings,” he said looking up again, a strange determination in his eyes. Frodo stared too taken aback to rebut him. “And sir,” Sam continued, “While we’ve been here, well I’ve been studying maps. I caught Mr. Merry sneaking off to look at them one day and I followed him in there. The both of us sir, we’ve been studying them maps and reading about the lands past here, and well, we reckon we’re going to learn as much as we can about where it is we’re to go so we know how to help you better. Mr. Merry said it himself, he said, ‘Sam-lad we’ve fouled it all up and only got this far by hobbit-luck, but that luck might not get us far past here. We had best sharpen up.’ And I intend to, sir. I intend to.”

“Sam,” Frodo finally cut in, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder to stop him. He sighed collecting his thoughts, “I don’t need a navigator.” Sam winced, and then gave him a weak smile.

“No course you don’t,” he said quietly, “You’ve got Mr. Strider for that I expect.”

“Yes,” Frodo said reluctantly, “And I’m not saying it isn’t a good idea for you to look at maps; I’ve been studying them as well. There may come a time when we need to know that information and we can’t always count on someone like Strider to be about to lead us,” he said, “But that’s not really what I need you for.” Sam frowned.

“No sir?”

“No. I need a friend more than anything,” Frodo said, laughing a little from nerves. Sam gave him a hard look then nodded looking completely unconvinced.

“Yes sir, I expect so,” he said, his body drooping as he said it.

“Sam I really do mean it,” Frodo insisted, catching his eye again, “Look here, wizards and heroes are very nice, but there’s nothing like having another hobbit about.” Sam sighed and nodded.

“Yes sir,” he said. Frodo closed his eyes feeling exasperated. Sam simply didn’t understand. He paused for a moment, and then continued in a low quiet voice. 

“This thing,” he said, reaching to his chest, then stopped before his hand could close around the lump at his neck, “This thing, well, it gets at you in a way that makes you want to forget what’s at stake. Makes you want to forget who you really are sometimes even.” His heart was suddenly pounding. He glanced at Sam nervously. Sam was watching him closely.

“You know who you are sir, you’ve no need for me to go telling you,” he said matter-of-factly. Frodo shook his head.

“No, that’s just it. I need you and Merry and Pippin to remind me of what I am, don’t you see?” he asked, and saw clearly that Sam didn’t see. “Trust me when I say you’ve been more help than you know.”

“Yes sir,” he said slowly. Frodo closed his eyes feeling that anything else he might say would probably fall under his definition of silly, so he shut his mouth and rested his cheek on his shoulder. He glanced over and saw Sam watching him from the corner of his eye. Frodo smiled, trying to look reassuring.

“Let’s go in. It’s getting a little cold, don’t you think?” he said. 

“Yes sir,” Sam said. They stood and made their way carefully back over the rocks.

They said goodnight and went their separate ways. Closing the door quietly behind him, Frodo went to his bed and climbed up onto the monumental mattress. His shoulder ached a bit and he rubbed it gently, thinking that perhaps going out and sitting on river rocks in the cool night air might not have been the best idea. Still, he felt relaxed and happy and it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

. . .

Frodo jerked awake, and gasped in pain. Cold sweat ran down his forehead as he pulled himself up and swung his legs over the side. He let out a cry when the floor was lower than he expected and stumbled sideways until he grasped the sheets to steady himself. The darkness, the pain and the largeness and strangeness of his surroundings pressed in suddenly. He paused a moment, trying to breathe deeply and calm himself, but the pain bloomed in his shoulder, hot and pulsing, compelling him to move.

Frodo reached the door and went out into the breezeway, gazing down the dark corridors. He stood in indecision, his mind too distressed by pain to ponder his choices for long. The best help would be an elf, but Frodo suddenly felt horribly reluctant to confront one of the big people, to have to stare up at their heights and feel so small. That left Bilbo, his cousins and Sam. Bilbo seemed a good choice, for the older hobbit had tended him when he was young and sick, had always made Frodo feel cared for back in the Shire. But Bilbo would most likely turn him over to an elf, for this was no hay fever. Frodo passed over his cousins quickly, as they would likely do the same. Sam however might not. He was also the closest and had been instructed in some of the healing arts of Aragorn. Frodo stumbled towards his room and settled himself against the wall as he knocked quietly at Sam’s door. When there was no answer Frodo turned the handle and went in. 

_Pain robs one of propriety,_ he thought grimly through the haze and made his way across the room to the bed. The room was lit dimly by moonlight streaming in through the windows, and once Frodo’s eyes adjusted he had little trouble discerning objects.

“Sam,” he called quietly and reached out to steady himself on the bedside table. There was a soft groan from the pile of blankets on the bed and it twisted away to reveal the pale oval of Sam’s round face.

“Sir?” he said, his voice muffled by sleep. 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Frodo said quietly, keeping his voice steady and calm, “I wondered if you might have a look at my shoulder. It’s giving me a little pain.” There was a short scramble and Sam answered,

“Yes sir, just a moment.” There was a soft sound as a match flared to life and Sam held it to the wick of the torch on his bedside table. He pulled the blankets back and slid down from the bed to stand beside Frodo, taking him gently by the arm, turning him toward the light. Frodo slipped the sleeve of his night jacket off and pulled down his loose nightshirt so that Sam could examine the bandage. The movement causes a wave of dizzying pain to shoot through him as he tried to repress his reactions. Frodo closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, feeling the muscles in his jaw strain as Sam’s fingers probed the bandage. 

“Sir, if it hurts so, we ought to get an elf to take a look at it,” Sam said. Frodo hung his head a bit.

“I will call an elf if need be, but I don’t want them prodding me if I can avoid it,” he said, “Could we just rebind it? You’ve watched them do it, and it is much better than a week ago. Couldn’t you give it a try?” Sam frowned.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, “Can you get up on the bed?” Frodo nodded and with the help of a step stool Sam had left at the bedside he climbed up and settled on the bed, sitting upright against the headboard. Sam lit a fire in the fireplace, set the kettle to heating, and then climbed up into the bed.

“I am sorry about this,” Frodo said as Sam gingerly adjusted his night jacket and unbuttoned the night shirt, “I know you’re still catching up on your sleep.”

“Nay, I’m alright,” Sam said, “If I need any sleep I can kip under the trees later.”

“I appreciate it,” Frodo said, still feeling guilty.

“We have to keep together,” Sam said, freeing Frodo’s arm from the nightshirt, letting it hang down his chest. 

“Yes,” Frodo murmured. They sat in silence while Sam unwound the bandages. When he was done he climbed down and took the kettle off the fire, poured the water into a bowl, and brought it back to the bed. Sam settled the bowl in his lap and began gently dabbing at the wound with a wet soft cloth. Frodo closed his eyes.

“It looks clean,” Sam reported.

“Good,” Frodo breathed.

“It’s healing well, and dry enough,” he sighed, “But it’s swollen. I’ll need to make you a poultice. Try to draw some of the fluid out.” Frodo nodded, attempting to relax. Sam climbed down again and went to the cabinet where he’d stored the healing herbs and other supplies he’d been given. Frodo found himself thinking over his conversation with Bilbo earlier, snatches of it buzzing in his head as Sam prepared the poultice, grinding the herbs into a paste and smearing them on to cloth. Sam retrieved a small vial of clear liquid and with it and the poultice placed close on the bedside table, he climbed up once more.

“Sir,” Sam said quietly, “I’m going to have to clean it with this ointment here and it’s that kind that stings,” he added. Frodo set his jaw firmly.

“Very well,” he said. Sam damped a cloth with the clear liquid and pressed it gently against the wound. The pain pulsed out so strongly that for a moment Frodo’s face crumpled before he regained his composure. He saw Sam glance at him, looking worried, before his eyes darted back to the task at hand. Frodo was grateful he didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes again and tried to recall that song Sam had sung for them on the way to Rivendell, the one he had spoken about with Bilbo.

_Troll sat alone on a seat of stone_, he thought. The next few lines he couldn’t remember, something about munching on bones because there wasn’t any meat. He sucked in a breath at the pain as Sam laid the cloth on again. Frodo opened his eyes and stared at Sam, wondering why his gardener had come up with such a morbid song. Trolls gnawing bones, man or hobbit, really it didn’t bear thinking on; especially when the tune was so blasted cheerful. 

_Graveyard, caveyard, paveyard, _he thought a little dazed. Still, he couldn’t really blame Sam for composing a merry ballad about trolls eating people- not when he had been told countless times the tale of How Bilbo and the Thirteen Dwarves Escaped Being Troll Supper. Oh yes, this troll song had come from his Sam.

Frodo still felt a little bubble of pleasure at the memory of his words, ‘Why it’s out of his own head of course’ when Sam had been reluctant to take his credit for the song. Sam had looked up at him in surprise and smiled warily. Frodo knew he had been looking back with warmth in his expression. 

_Don’t be an ass Frodo. That boy loves you. Always has,_ Bilbo had said. Frodo pondered the words for a moment and let his eyes slide back to Sam, who had finished cleaning the wound and was applying the poultice, his full attention devoted to the task at hand.

_Yes,_ Frodo thought, _and I love him too._


	2. Chapter 2

Sam awoke a little later than usual, though it was still mostly dark outside. He stretched and climbed out of the oversized bed and padded to the washstand. He washed his face and drank some water, the events of the previous night strong in his mind. He didn’t like remembering the pain and paleness in Frodo’s face, just when he thought they might be past all of that. Sam went to the window and pushed back the thin curtains to watch the dim light spread over the lawns of Rivendell and sighed. 

He knew Frodo had suffered a terrible wound and if events had taken a slightly different turn then he wouldn’t be here at all. As grateful as he was for Frodo’s survival, he was anxious that he hadn’t shown more signs of improvement. At this rate he feared Frodo wouldn’t be healed when they set out for the next leg of the journey. Sam was determined to do all that he could to speed the healing.

He had asked Frodo if he would like to stay the night, since he didn’t think he needed to suffer walking back along the halls in pain, but Frodo had given him a reassuring smile and said that he felt much better. Sam had helped him down from the bed and Frodo thanked him and apologized again for waking him. Though the exchange had been normal enough, Sam thought he sensed a new thoughtfulness in Frodo’s expression and tone. As Frodo had been about to leave Sam said,

“Don’t fear on waking me or troubling me. I’ll always want to help you.” Instead of the light smile and thanks that Sam expected Frodo regarded him seriously for a moment, then bowed his head.

“Yes I know that,” he said quietly, “And you can’t know what a comfort you are to me.” Only then did he smile, but it was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, genuine though it was, “Good night, my friend,” he said.

“Good night,” Sam said feeling puzzled at the seriousness in Frodo’s expression. Frodo had gone then, closing the door behind him and Sam had gone back to bed.

Now he slipped on his coat and went out into the hallway and headed toward the kitchens. He liked to ease in early and eat his breakfast before the formal hall filled up and he would be expected to take breakfast with the grim men and dwarves and fey elves. The kitchen elves had grown accustomed to these early visits and made him sample their attempts at hobbit food. 

As Sam exited the kitchen, burdened by a basket of treats the elves insisted he take, someone called his name. Sam turned to see Bilbo peering at him from the hallway.

“Good morning lad,” Bilbo said cheerily. Sam smiled was about to offer the older hobbit some of the food, but Bilbo continued quickly, “Come walk with me, won’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Sam said. They walked in silence toward the stables and sunny meadows.

“I’ve been copying some of my volumes. I’ve got one of the Red Book for you,” Bilbo said. Sam looked up quickly.

“Oh, thank you sir. You didn’t have to do that,” he said. Bilbo waved his hand dismissively.

“I know you won’t be able to take it with you, but I’ll have it waiting when you return,” he said gruffly. Sam looked down at his feet.

“I’ll look forward to that,” he said.

“How is your father?” Bilbo asked, “I’m sorry we’ve been so busy with all this I don’t think I’ve had a chance to ask you about him.” 

“He’s well,” Sam said, “a bit deafer and his joints pain him, but he’s still well.” Bilbo peered at him and said, 

“I’m glad to hear that. And I’m glad to hear the Shire is still mostly protected from the unpleasantness.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said without much enthusiasm. He was worried, and he couldn’t make the effort to hide his worry from Bilbo.

“Your father has his other children to take care of him. The girls still live at Number Three don’t they? Or at least nearby? And your brothers will certainly come if he has need.”

“I’m sure that’s so,” Sam said, tightly, not wanting to think about his father. He was ready and willing to follow Frodo, but he couldn’t deny that his family obligations gave him pause. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Bilbo said warmly, “Was the world outside the Shire the way you imagined it?”

“No sir,” Sam said gratefully, “I think I imagined it a friendlier place, though maybe it is usually.”

“Oh I’d say so; of course even in good times the outside world can be a treacherous place for us Little Folk.” Sam smiled.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me saying, it’s all them that is the Big Folk. You’ve been living amongst them too long,” he said and Bilbo chuckled.

“I suppose so Samwise,” he said and patted his back. He paused a moment, then said, “My nephew seems to have become a fine young hobbit,” he said. Sam’s smile faded, but he nodded. “I’ve wondered about him over the years, wondered if he was happy in that little corner of the Shire.” Bilbo glanced questioningly at Sam. Sam fidgeted nervously. “Oh it’s alright Sam, you’re not in the conspiracy anymore. I’m not asking for you to report on Frodo.”

“No sir, its just I don’t know what to say,” he said, “Mr. Frodo seemed happy enough to me.”

“Ah, but you think he wouldn’t share any unhappiness with you?” Bilbo asked. Sam flushed.

“Folks say he’s a fine Master of the Hill, that he’s flourished and come into himself,” Sam offered. Bilbo considered him a moment.

“Does anyone say he’s cracked, like I was?” he asked. Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Well yes sir, of course some folks say that,” he said. Bilbo nodded with approval.

“I’m glad to hear it. I hoped the boy would carry on the tradition,” he said. Sam smiled at this, remembering how dear his old master had been, how his oddness and otherness had endeared him to Sam.

From around the corner they could hear voices and laughter. Bilbo raised an eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially at Sam.

“Sounds as if Frodo and his cousins are breakfasting in Elrond’s front garden,” he said. They rounded the corner and found that indeed, Frodo, Merry and Pippin were seated on a blanket, eating from a large packed basket, while out to the side on the grass, sat Aragorn, looking at the garishly bright-green and orange checkered blanket suspiciously.

“You see Strider, you sit on it to keep the wet out,” Pippin was explaining as he stuffed buttered bread into his mouth. Aragorn shook his head looking baffled.

“But it isn’t wet,” he said, “And why is it so brightly colored? I have seen weavers spin fine brocades of rich color, but I don’t think any of them has ever thought this hue of green and this particular orange belong next to one another,” he teased. Frodo chuckled.

“Oh, that,” he murmured, sipping tea, “We hobbits adore bad taste.” Merry spotted Sam and Bilbo.

“Hullo,” he called.

“Good morning lads, Dúnadan,” Bilbo said nodding to them. 

“Good morning,” Frodo and his cousins chorused, then spotting Sam Pippin gave an exclamation.

“There he is! We wondered about you Sam,” he said.

“Were you wanting these?” Sam asked smiling as he held up the basket of treats from the kitchen. He had made it his habit to leave most of the food with the cousins, as the elves always packed enough for at least six hobbits. 

“Yes, Pippin misses anyone who brings him food,” Merry said cheerily, taking the basket from Sam. Sam settled down next to Pippin and nodded good morning to Frodo as Bilbo took his post near Aragorn.

“Are you making Sam bring you breakfast every morning?” Frodo asked, frowning at his cousins. 

“No, Sam’s just got a kind heart,” Pippin said stuffing his mouth with a scone.

“He brings you breakfast, Frodo. Don’t see why you should make a fuss,” Merry said causing Frodo to sputter and redden. Bilbo watched them with an amused grin.

“I suppose this lot was endless trouble for you on the way here,” Bilbo said to Aragorn, squinting at his relations. 

“Not at all little master,” Aragorn said, “They all showed valor and endurance, and hidden strength that I had been told of by Gandalf, but I had never seen in a hobbit. No, you should be proud of them.” 

“Oh, bother Gandalf and his ideas,” Bilbo scoffed, taking a tea cup and sipping, “We hobbits are just very lucky.”

“Master, you are being modest. Your nephew bore a wound that would have laid low a seasoned warrior, man or elf. And he made a noble stand against a fearful enemy while so injured.”

“Don’t puff his head up, Strider,” Merry snorted, “Frodo went off horseback riding when he was in no condition and shouted hollow threats to Black Riders. That’s all.” Frodo turned and kicked at him and Merry kicked back. 

“Told them to go to hell didn’t you?” Pippin said grinning, “Good old Frodo.” Frodo permitted himself a thin smile, before hiding his face in his teacup.

“I’m just lucky master Elrond’s power protected me,” he said.

“You see, luck. As I was saying,” Bilbo said airily.

“Luck and the friendship of the wise,” Frodo added. Bilbo cast a look at his nephew.

“I suppose that helps,” he admitted.

“So Frodo,” Pippin said, pointing his scone at him, “Are you coming with Merry and me up into the forest? We’re going to try fishing above the waterfalls today.” Frodo considered.

“No, I think I’ll stay here. Bilbo and I have been making some progress in recording our adventure so far, but we haven’t gotten half of it down yet.”

“Oh Frodo,” Merry said frowning, “You’ve done nothing but stay cooped up down here.”

“We’re about to be spending quite a lot of time out of doors,” Frodo said reasonably, “So I don’t see the point in wearing myself out when I can be doing productive things here.” Pippin shifted his gaze to Sam.

“Won’t you come Sam?” he asked, “You like fishing, don’t you?” 

“I do, but no thank you sir. I want to hear some more elvish songs and tales. And help Mr. Frodo tell our story to Mr. Bilbo of course,” he said. Pippin sagged, looking disappointed and cast his eyes on Aragorn.

“And I suppose you’re too busy, Strider?” he asked. Aragorn smiled apologetically.

“I fear so,” he said. Merry slapped Pippin on the back.

“More fish for us,” he said.

“I’ll come out with you tomorrow,” Frodo said smiling indulgently at his cousins, “But somewhere close by,” he added. “Perhaps we could fish down here, out near the rocks.” Merry turned to Frodo, looking worried.

“I forget you’re still recovering, you look so well,” he said.

“I’m nearly well. We’ll go fishing tomorrow,” Frodo said turning to study the breakfast basket. Merry watched him silently for a moment.

“Very well,” he said. They ate comfortably together for a few minutes. Sam noticed a procession of elves walking along one of the passages, Elrond heading the group. He turned and spotted them, then changed his direction and walked out onto the grass, as the other elves continued down the hallway. 

“Good morning friends,” he said warmly as he surveyed them. “Enjoying the grounds are we?”

“I told you he wouldn’t like us having a picnic on the grass,” Merry muttered. Pippin shifted nervously but Elrond had already turned his attention to Frodo.

“Frodo, I wondered if I might have a word?” Elrond said looking down at him. Frodo straightened.

“Yes sir,” he said standing. Sam began to look furtively around, wondering if he could follow without being noticed, but Elrond shifted his gaze to Sam and squinted.

“Master Samwise, my stableman has told me that your pony is doing well. He suggested you come this morning and help feed the animal, as he eats more when you are present.” Sam almost scowled. Behind him he heard Pippin snort and Bilbo muttering.

“Yes sir, that’s a fine idea,” Sam said, not breaking eye contact with the elf, even though it always made him feel a little strange to look an elf in the eye. He wasn’t sure but he thought he saw a slight amused smile appear on Elrond’s face before the mask of solemnity took hold once more. Frodo glanced back at Sam and gave him an apologetic smile, before turning and following Elrond. When they were gone Sam turned facing the others again and saw everyone’s eyes on him. He blanched at their amused looks.

“He caught you squarely didn’t he Sam,” Pippin chuckled, “Serves you right for going to the council meeting. Now those elves are on their toes around Samwise Gamgee.”

“They had best be. We turned you into a first rate conspirator,” Merry said, idly rifling through the basket once more, looking for more food. Bilbo laughed, seeing Sam’s less than pleased expression.

“No matter how good a conspirator you are lad, that Elrond is a tricky one. No, I expect he has his reasons for wanting to speak with Frodo alone and we had best respect them,” his eyes twinkled, “At least some of the time.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said dully. 

Aragon eventually excused himself, saying that he needed to speak to some elves before he set out for the day of scouting. They spent the next half hour eating and lounging, until Sam finally drew himself up and decided he had best make an appearance at the stables, even if Elrond’s words had only been a diversionary tactic. Sam did enjoy going to the stables and tending Bill and some of the smaller elvish horses and foals. He hadn’t thought himself much of a horsehobbit back in the Shire, but he was taking a strong liking to the animals and was eager to learn all he could from the elvish stable master about pony care, as he would be looking after Bill on the journey.

. . .

It was the middle of the afternoon before Sam saw Frodo again. The word that Elrond had wanted with him seemed to have become something more, and when Frodo finally wandered to the stables to find him, Sam observed an air of gloom and fatigue in his friend. Frodo gave him a weary smile and asked about the horses as they made their way to Bilbo’s quarters. Sam told him cheerily about the elvish horses, but could see Frodo’s attention was elsewhere, and soon he fell silent. 

“Can we wait a bit before going to see Bilbo?” Frodo asked hesitantly. “I need a rest,” he added. Sam turned back and nodded. He stepped close and took Frodo's hand and rubbed it, trying to work warmth into his fingers. Frodo watched him. “Is there somewhere to sit out of the way for a bit?”

“Yes. Sorry. Follow me,” Sam said and led him down a pathway that gently sloped toward the river. He’d spotted a quiet pretty glade on one of his explorations and he hoped it was quiet now; and that the beauty of the place was what Frodo needed. Frodo had sunk into silence again.

They came into the small sheltered glade at the riverside. Sam was relieved to see that it was empty. He led Frodo to a carved wood bench and Frodo sat, his eyes moving out to the river. Sam sat down beside him and watched the water burble and slide over stone before them. He sighed, feeling the peace of the place settle over him. He heard a soft gentle sound and turned to see Frodo watching him with warmth in his eyes. 

“You like this place.”

“I do,” Sam said, “it’s quiet and nice and it’s where I came when I needed to get away from everyone. And,” he paused, “and I came here when I was the worst worried on you and they wouldn’t let me see you.” He clasped his hands together at the memory. Frodo moved closer and put an arm around Sam’s back, drawing him close. Sam felt a rush of joy and nestled into Frodo’s arms. Frodo’s weariness and dark mood were gone. His face was lit with contentment. Sam eased and set his cheek against Frodo’s shoulder, gazing up at him. Frodo smiled, before setting his head against Sam’s. Sam closed his eyes, wanting this moment to last. Frodo was warm. 

“Did it help?” Frodo asked quietly, “this place?”

“It did.”

“I am glad.”

Sam twined their fingers, and drew Frodo’s hand up in both his own. It was still cold. He rubbed it then pulled it up to his face and kissed Frodo’s knuckles, then cupping his palms around it, breathed warm against his skin. Frodo nuzzled the side of his head and held him tighter. They stayed in the glade for some time.

. . .

When they reached Bilbo’s little study, the three of them took up where they’d left off, making a record of the journey to Rivendell. Bilbo sat by the fire and took notes as Frodo recalled their adventures on the Barrow-Downs. Sam told his part, about how he had lost sight of Merry, and then been pulled down into the barrow.

“I had never been more scared,” he said frowning, “It was like some night terror, and when it took me down with its dead hands wrapped ‘round me, I fell into a dream, or I suppose it was a dream,” Sam said frowning, “It’s hard to remember that part.” Frodo stared at him. 

“You remember it taking you down?” he asked aghast. No one had wanted to talk about the barrow, so Frodo had never questioned the others about their experiences.

“Yes sir,” Sam said looking down, his brow furrowing, “And it was saying the most awful things, chanting them like, until its song got right down deep in my bones. It made me go cold and put me into that dream.”

“Good heavens,” Bilbo said, his eyes wide, “What happened then?” Sam shook his head, like a dog with water in its ears.

“Then I sort of came to and I was laying on the grass outside, and saw Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry, and we were dressed in those strange white clothes, all of us except Mr. Frodo. And Master Bombadil was there with us. He was merry and singing like he was out in May sunshine with not a care in the world.” 

“Amazing,” Bilbo said scribbling away in his close spidery hand, “You lads had more adventure just between the West Farthing and Rivendell than I had all the way to the Lonely Mountain.”

“That’s an exaggeration uncle,” Frodo said gazing unhappily into the fire. Sam cast a glance at him. The peace from the glade had faded from Frodo’s face and Sam felt a burning ache. It seemed Frodo’s peace must always fade quickly these days. Bilbo was oblivious to his nephew’s tone and continued happily,

“Oh I only had trolls to contend with before I found Rivendell. A Barrow-wight, now there is a tale! And all the better that you came through it unharmed. I think we’ll end the chapter with you lads laying in peace on the grass. A happy ending to a dark tale,” he said, immensely satisfied. Frodo looked forlorn.

“I wish all our chapters could have such ends,” he said, “Dark bitter hardships may end the chapters to come.” Sam stared at him, eyes wide, but was reluctant to speak, and in truth didn’t feel as if he were clever enough to say anything that might be of comfort.

“Now Frodo, that’s no way to talk,” Bilbo said looking up, “Adventure can be a cruel thing, but it can show you wonders you’ve never dreamed of, and show you qualities about yourself you never considered. Why, before my adventure I would have never thought myself a burglar.” This brought a slight smile to Frodo’s lips and he turned to Sam, mischief in his eyes.

“I said Sam will become a wizard or a warrior on this journey,” he said. Sam scowled, but recognized a joke when he heard one.

“Aye, and what will you then be Mr. Frodo?” he asked. Frodo considered.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, “Ringbearer suits me as much as wizard or warrior suits you.”

. . .

When they ended for the night Sam and Frodo walked back along the dark passages toward their rooms. Sam thought they had made good progress today but still felt the fatigue and cheerlessness in Frodo’s mood.

“Bilbo is taken with happy endings I think,” Frodo said quietly. Sam looked at him in surprise.

“There’s naught wrong with that is there?” he asked. Frodo shrugged and didn’t answer, his eyes cast to the cobblestones. Sam set his mouth determinedly and said, “Even our tale of the Barrow-wight came out alright, and that was a dark place. Maybe he’s right, maybe we do have luck on our side.” Frodo seemed to brood and again didn’t answer. Sam wasn’t sure what had turned his mood so dark, except that he seemed more and more worried about the journey, and Sam wondered what Elrond had told him this morning. They were making their way toward Frodo’s room, where Sam planned to warm some milk and check on supplies that Frodo might need during the night. They neared the door and slipped in silently. As Sam closed the door behind him and turned he noticed Frodo had stopped, facing away staring toward the windows.

“It almost didn’t have a happy ending,” he murmured.

“Eh?” Sam asked.

“In the barrows. When I awoke and saw all of you and that horrible dead thing, I almost put the Ring on and ran away.”

“Oh,” Sam said, blinking. Frodo turned to look at him, some mixture of fear and something darker in his face. Sam stared back feeling bewildered.

“Oh,” Frodo repeated bitterly. Sam frowned.

“It’s only sense you would have thought to do that,” he said, his eyes widening at Frodo’s tone. “We could have been dead for all you knew. And anyway, you didn’t, you got through that thing’s power and sang out and saved us all.”

“By some miracle,” Frodo murmured.

“Yes,” Sam said hesitantly. Frodo rubbed his temple and sighed.

“How I wish you would stay here,” he said quietly. Sam felt a sudden sharp pain pierce him and tears sprung to his eyes.

“I said I’d try harder to be of help!” he said, hearing his own voice crack. Frodo lifted his face looking pained himself.

“You must know this is a hopeless quest and it will end in our doom. I wish you could be spared from that.” Sam gaped at him, his eyes rounded. 

“You can’t think that, sir,” he said, feeling pain twist in his throat, “You can’t think we’ve no chance.” Frodo met his eyes, his face serious. He tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth trembled and Frodo gave it up.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said, “All this time I’ve been numb to it, and now I’ve begun to realize just what it is that I’ve agreed to do,” he bent his head again, “It’s foolish, I know.”

“No it’s not. It’s a bit much to take in for all of us,” Sam said feeling clumsy in his inability to find the right words, “We’ve been thinking all this time we were going home once we delivered the thing here, like Mr. Gandalf asked us to, and now…”

“You’re not surprised though are you?” Frodo asked, “you’ve known all along where we were going.”

“Of course I didn’t, no more than you,” Sam said stubbornly. The truth was that he hadn’t cared if their road ended at Rivendell or in Mordor; Sam had decided back in the spring he would do what was needed and follow Frodo regardless.

“You won’t stay here, or go back to the Shire will you? Even if I told you to?” Frodo asked not looking up. Sam set his jaw stubbornly.

“No sir,” he said, “I’ve already told you, I’ve a job to do,” he paused, “Besides, you said last night you needed me. You said you needed me to remind you of what you are and that there’s nothing like another hobbit about.”

“I did say that,” Frodo said dully. Sam paused.

“You meant it didn’t you?” he asked, his voice betraying the uncertainty that he felt. Frodo nodded but didn’t lift his head.

“Yes I meant it,” he said sounding sad and tired.

“Then don’t fear for me. I’m coming with you and that’s that,” Sam said. To his horror, Frodo’s head bent lower and his shoulders began to shake. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. To see Frodo, his strong reserved Mr. Frodo crying, shook Sam to the core and he stepped forward suddenly and took hold of his hand.

“Oh sir,” he breathed, “I’m sorry. Don’t take on so.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Frodo said, his voice taking on a shakiness Sam had never heard. He hurriedly wiped his cheeks, looking ashamed, but it was a futile act, as more tears ran down his flushed face. Sam dipped his head and without thinking, wrapped his arms around Frodo, holding him in a close embrace, rubbing his back to soothe him. It would have been an unthinkable act even a month ago, but now Sam found it easy and natural, and could not regret it, especially when Frodo relaxed and wound his arms around Sam’s back.

“You must think me a horrible little ass,” Frodo said, his voice muffled.

“No I don’t,” Sam said. He suddenly felt a fierce protectiveness welling up inside him. Frodo bowed his head and pressed his cheek to Sam's shoulder. Sam closed his eyes, caught in the moment. 

It didn't last. Frodo drew in a breath and straightened, stepping back and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. He looked up at Sam, sheepish now. 

“I wonder,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “if you might stay the night?” 

“Yes if you like,” Sam said shyly. Frodo gave him a weary smile.

“Sorry. I’d just feel better I think.”

“Truth be told sir,” Sam said, “I can’t abide these big empty beds. They swallow you up and make you feel small. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin had the right idea.”

“Oh?” Frodo asked.

“They’ve been bunking together in Mr. Merry’s room. Said it was too much space for one hobbit and a waste to set such big rooms aside for us.”

“It is a bit of a difference, when we’ve all got used to sleeping close,” Frodo murmured, “We hobbits really are creatures of comfort.”

“Yes, that we are,” Sam agreed. 

They prepared for bed, Sam going back to his room to dress in his nightshirt and soft trousers. On his way back he stopped by the kitchens and acquired a bottle of warmed milk so that he wouldn’t have to heat the kettle in Frodo’s room. When he returned he found Frodo sitting by the window, a book in hand, already dressed in his night robe. They sat together and shared the milk as Frodo talked about the book he had found. Frodo finished his milk and stood stretching.

“Bed?” he asked. Sam nodded and stood as well, following Frodo to the bedside. Frodo pulled the covers back and told Sam to climb up first. Sam did so and clambered over to the other side, making room for Frodo. When Frodo settled in place he reached over and blew out the candle at his bedside, shrouding them in darkness. Sam had already lain down, pulling the covers up around him, curling on his side to face Frodo, leaving a comfortable distance between them. He felt the bed shift as Frodo took a moment to settle and then there was stillness. Sam let his eyes close and he mulled over the day’s events. 

He thought of asking Frodo about what Elrond had said to him, but decided against it. If Frodo had wanted to share it, he would have, and Sam didn’t want to disturb him now that they had laid down to rest. That would be just like him, he thought, to go chattering away when he had just been invited to share a bed with Frodo. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing his father would be scandalized if he knew, but then, the Gaffer was a long way away and he would have objected to quite a few things Sam had done over the past month. 

Sam did wonder selfishly if he would be allowed to stay other nights. He’d not realized how uncomfortable he’d felt in his isolated room. He felt much happier now, comforted by Frodo’s presence. And judging from the even breaths next to him he guessed that Frodo felt the same. 

_Well that’s all for the good_, he thought,_ I want to be a comfort to him._

There was a sigh next to him and Sam felt the bed shift. Frodo slid closer to him and draped an arm over his side, settling so that his head was tucked neatly against Sam’s neck. Sam felt frozen for a moment, shocked by this move. He realized Frodo’s arm was tense, and that Frodo must be waiting for his reaction. Slowly, wondering at the boldness of them both, Sam slid his arm over Frodo’s shoulder and held him close. Neither spoke.

Sam felt Frodo relax and his breathing resumed the slow deep pattern. The same protectiveness he had felt earlier returned, stronger and deeper.

_He trusts me_, Sam thought, humbled and warmed by the thought. _He trusts me so much he can forget all that toughness he has to keep up in front of everyone else. _Sam felt his eyes prick with tears.

“Sam?” 

Sam blinked and opened his eyes in the darkness. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being so kind to me,” Frodo whispered, “It means so much.”

“You've no need to thank me for that. It's what I feel for you,” he said and felt his cheeks go hot. 

“I feel so much for you,” Frodo said slowly. Sam cuddled closer, his heart fluttering. 

“That’s why I'm here,” Sam whispered, “why I'll be with you, no matter how hard times are.” Frodo's embrace tightened. 

“I’m sorry for telling you I wish you weren't coming. Besides it being a lie, I wasn't thinking about your feelings.”

“I’d still a come,” Sam murmured, “but I’d hoped for your blessing.”

“You have it.” There was a sigh in the darkness. “I’m scared. And I’m trying to sort it all. But I can’t.”

“No one could, I think,” Sam whispered. 

“Even if I can’t sort it I need to stop saying contradictory things to you- thanking you for coming, then telling you I wish you would stay, then taking it back. I’m sorry I’m so muddled. I know it hurts you.”

“You confuse me some,” Sam said gently, “But I know you. I know you’re wanting to look out for me. No matter if we’re both muddled, I know that much.”

“Dear Sam,” Frodo sighed and hugged him. “You are far better than I deserve.”

“None of that,” Sam rubbed his cheek against Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo lay a hand over his head, taking a breath. Sam waited. The moment stretched and then Frodo brushed a soothing hand through his curls, before withdrawing. 

“Good night,” he said. 

“Goodnight,” Sam said back. Frodo quieted and stilled. Sam nestled down in the blankets and closed his eyes. It took him a while to fall asleep, but when he did Sam slept peacefully until morning.

. . .

Over the course of the next few days little seemed to change. They went about reading and studying maps and listening to council on the journey to come. Frodo went with his cousins to fish while Sam wandered the grounds and spoke shyly to the elves that had taken a liking to him. He had ingratiated himself to several of the storytellers by showing such rapt worshipful attention to their stories. On one afternoon Bilbo joined him and they made up a song together and sang it for the elves.

After the first night spent together Sam had carefully not assumed that Frodo would want him to stay again, but when night had come Frodo asked him where his pack was. 

“In my room sir,” Sam had replied.

“If you would like you can bring it here. That is if you want to stay again,” Frodo said.

“Oh yes,” Sam said and had gone at once to collect his belongings. After that they spent every night together, sometimes pressed close, sometimes just comfortably beside one another. 

On the third night Sam awoke to a moonlit room and found Frodo curled at his side. He turned, pillowing his head on his arm and watched Frodo sleep, suddenly overcome with a feeling of longing. He knew this strange state of events was limited, they certainly wouldn’t behave this way on the journey with all the others about, and they would have never done this in the Shire. During daylight hours he had found himself looking forward to the nights, when he could sleep with Frodo pressed against him, comforted by his warmth.

_There_, he thought,_ I’ve gone and got above myself. Wanting to hold him more than I’ve a right. _Sam frowned at the thought. 

When he had been a tweener and had been introduced to kissing games, Sam had kissed his share of lasses and once on a dare a lad. Some of the games got a bit wild after that and he had mostly stayed above it all, preferring to keep his reputation as a sensible Gamgee intact. But after he had kissed the lad, some farmer boy from out of town, a wondering had started in him and Sam had cast his eyes on Frodo more than once. But even at that young age he had known it to be pure folly and had soon stopped himself thinking on such things. But now, the wondering came back. 

Carefully he lifted his arm and moved it to curl around behind Frodo’s back, his heart hammering. Sam had never yet had the courage to reach for Frodo first and now he found it thrilling when Frodo sighed and curled into his embrace. Sam realized he had been holding his breath and he released it, trying to calm himself.

_Now you’ve done it for sure,_ he scolded himself,_ it’s still moonshine. He’ll never kiss you Sam Gamgee. He just wants comforting. _Sam sighed, giving up on the strange urge as he had done years ago. It wasn’t any help to have that on his mind so he let it go and took pleasure from the simple nearness. He supposed he had best enjoy moments like these while they lasted. He closed his eyes and burrowed closer to Frodo, resigning himself to sleep.

. . .

Frodo awoke slowly in the soft light of Rivendell and found to his surprise that Sam was still abed with him, nestled close on his right side, his arm draped around Frodo holding him secure. Frodo blinked sleepily, wondering if his own habits were beginning to have an influence on Sam, for Sam was usually up when he awoke, having already been to the kitchen for their breakfast and usually in the middle of making tea. As much as he liked awakening to find Sam ready with a cup of tea for him, he found he liked this more. And he liked waking up in Sam’s arms. It felt good. 

Sam opened his eyes and blinked. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, sleepily. Warmth lit through Frodo. 

_He is so good to me. Sweet and kind and so understanding. And now he gives me such a darling greeting when he’s barely awake, and we’re both so cozy, held together by his embrace. _

“Good morning,” Frodo said and leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek. As he pulled back he saw that Sam’s eyes were wide and watching him. The kiss had been the kind he might give his cousins when he was feeling especially fond of them, but he didn’t do that with Sam. 

_Until now,_ he thought a little guiltily. But Sam didn’t look put off or even shocked. He just looked up and smiled, his cheeks pinking up. 

The rest of the morning passed normally enough, though a few times Frodo caught Sam watching him. 

_He must think I’ve come a little unhinged,_ Frodo thought wryly, _well I will behave myself from now on. I shouldn’t make him worry over me and I ought to apologize._

Later in the morning, after second breakfast, they went off to see Bilbo. They were helping him record the happenings in Bree when Bilbo looked up suddenly at Frodo and remarked on how well he looked.

“My lad, you’ve a flush of health in your cheeks again. I think Rivendell agrees with you,” he said chuckling. 

“Rivendell would likely agree with anyone,” Frodo replied, “And I am feeling much better.”

“You look as if you’re getting properly rested. No more nightmares?” Bilbo asked as he worked on his copy. Frodo blushed.

“No,” he said. Sam glanced at him inquisitively but Frodo avoided his gaze. 

_Drat Bilbo anyway_, he thought wondering if his uncle enjoyed embarrassing him in front of Sam.

. . .

As the afternoon came on Frodo stood outside the great hall looking at the river and trees, wondering what to do. Aragorn and the other warriors were out patrolling and would be back for a day or two, the wise were cloistered in one of the towers and his cousins had left that morning to hike up the high hills. Sam had gone off to the stables, as was his custom in the early afternoon and Bilbo would be resting until they were scheduled to meet up with him once more before tea. Frodo sighed and thought he really ought to be able to find something worthwhile to do by himself.

He thought of going to visit the library with some reluctance. He had studied maps and begun to read travel journals but it was all becoming rather depressing and he had begun to avoid the preparation he knew he ought to be doing. With a heavy sigh he drew himself up and trudged to the domed hall where Elrond’s library was housed. It really was a splendid collection and he had been thrilled to see it the first time, though his reaction had been nothing to Sam’s. It had been only a few days after the council when he had taken Sam to see the book house and Sam had stood in awe, staring up at the towering cases of books. 

He entered the quiet hall and spied a silvery-haired elf writing at a desk. It was the librarian, Frodo had encounter several times on his trips to the library. The elf looked up and gave a pleasant smile.

“Hello again young Master Baggins,” he said, “Do you require the logs you were studying last time?” he asked. Frodo shook his head and tried not to look guilty.

“I wondered if I might look at other parts of your collection today,” he said nervously.

“Of course. Is there something in particular you are looking for?” he asked.

“Tales perhaps?” Frodo asked, “Some work of fiction?”

“Fiction?” the elf asked frowning, “Your Mr. Bilbo talked of such a thing as well, but I am afraid that elves place little value on false tales, as we have such a large store of true tales, more spectacular than anything a writer might dream,” he peered curiously at Frodo, “Do hobbits have some great affinity for fiction?”

“Some I suppose,” Frodo murmured embarrassed. To he and his cousins the tales Bilbo had told them and the tales of elves had seemed a fiction. “But most hobbits prefer the ordinary everyday kind of story, the kind that happens down the road.” 

“So you and Bilbo are peculiar in that way?” he mused, “Perhaps it comes from the desire to experience the grand epics, when you yourselves are confined to a place of peace and are limited to the mundane experiences of a rural life.”

“I suppose so,” Frodo said, wishing he had just asked for the travel logs. The librarian frowned and looked down, as if just noticing Frodo and blinked rather owlishly.

“I meant to give something to you last time but it slipped my mind,” he said and turned, going back behind the desk. Frodo leaned forward curiously. The elf came up with a leather bound book, rather large for a hobbit, and handed it to Frodo. Frodo took it and opened the book carefully, but only found a blank page, with lightly drawn lines, dividing the page into four squares. He flipped through and saw that all the pages were marked so.

“What is it?” Frodo asked.

“An autograph book. Don’t you have them in the Shire?” the elf asked. Frodo looked down at the finely made book and shook his head.

“We have many types of books, and I make it a habit to acquire books from many lands, but I haven’t happened across one like this. What do you do with it exactly?” he asked.

“Keep it with you and when you meet a friend, ask them to pen a poem or a short thought in the book. It is a remembrance, meant to be cherished and returned to, when you can no longer see your dear ones. I myself have many of the little volumes and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.” Frodo smiled.

“What a nice idea,” he said, “Thank you. I will treasure it.”

He spent most of the afternoon studying elvish tales, comparing them to the translations and versions he owned, stored back at Crickhollow. The autograph book was tucked neatly into his bag, giving Frodo the feeling of owning some great prize. He wanted to find his cousins and Bilbo and Sam and have them write in it as soon as possible. 

. . .

Sam sat back, watching Bill munch contentedly. The pony's eyes were bright and his coat was brushed so he was handsome. Sam smiled, cheered at how Bill was thriving. He tended to follow Sam around the pony house as he cleaned and carried fresh bales of straw or drew water from the pump. When Sam paused, Bill would set his head against Sam's shoulder, or bump him with his nose. Sam would chuckle and pet him, and go about his business, Bill still trailing along behind.

Sam glanced up at the sound of the door opening. He expected to see one of the horse masters, but instead, Bilbo peered in, blinking in the dim light. 

“There you are, Sam-lad,” Bilbo said, coming into the stable, “they said you were here.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said and rose. Bilbo came to stand beside him and peeked into the stall.

“This is Bill is it?” Bilbo said, “Hello Bill. You are a fine old thing. Hm! Haven't seen a pony in years. Much nicer than those tall elf steeds.”

“You best not let the horse masters hear you, sir,” Sam said. Bilbo snorted.

“One thing nice about getting old and being a permanent honored guest- I say what I like, when I like. And they haven't kicked me out yet.”

“Mr. Bilbo, you are a caution,” Sam said fondly. Bilbo smiled.

“Listen, Sam, why don’t you and Frodo skip your afternoon visit with me, hm? Go have a picnic and lay out in the sun today.”

“Sir?” Sam blinked, “But he enjoys visiting you. And so do I,” he added shyly. 

“As do I. But I think it’s better if he spends a little quiet time with you, rather than trying to make himself work on the tale with me. Besides, we’re drawing nearer to some of the harder parts to tell aren’t we?” Bilbo asked. Sam nodded. They’d left off just before Weathertop. “He doesn’t need to dwell on such things now. And only you, I think, could tempt him into a bit of rest.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you play simple with me young lad,” Bilbo growled, “you have experience swaying Frodo. I saw you do it in the Shire and I’m sure your skills have only grown.”

“I, ah,” Sam sputtered, “only ever looking out for him!”

“I know, dear Sam,” Bilbo smiled. Sam drew in a breath and gazed down, disquiet settling over him. Bilbo thought Frodo needed rest. Then he was also worried. Worried he wasn’t healing or that he was overwhelmed by troubles... It was all just one more thing that Frodo had to overcome. It wasn’t fair. 

“Samwise?” Bilbo murmured, “What's wrong lad?” Sam looked up. Bilbo's keen eyes were studying him. 

“I wish it weren’t Mr. Frodo having to do this,” Sam said in a near whisper, “he’s already had to handle so much. Why can’t he have peace?” He felt tears burn in his eyes and then fall down his cheeks. He scrubbed them away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I know he made his choice. And that’s all that matters.”

“It’s not all that matters,” Bilbo said kindly, and set his hand on Sam’s shoulder. He paused before continuing, “Frodo has been trusted with this because he is hardy in all the ways that matter most for a task like this. And those that would seek our world’s ruin will confront us with cruel raw strength, and expect to be met with the same. But the wise have seen that that way lies our ruin, for this is not a struggle that we can win on the battlefield. That is why they have put their faith in Frodo. Do you understand?”

“No. But that’s alright. I know all I need to. I know it must be him, and it’s bad of me to wish it on someone else.”

“Don’t fret Sam. I feel the same as you do. And I know you said what you did because you love him so.”

Sam bowed his head and a fresh wash of tears clouded his vision. 

“Dear lad,” Bilbo murmured and embraced Sam, who ducked into the old masters arms gratefully. “I am so happy you’ll be with him. It’s the only thing that brings me comfort in all this,” Bilbo said quietly. 

“I won’t let no one nor nothing part us,” Sam sniffed, “I swear it.” Bilbo smiled.

“Good lad.”


	3. Chapter 3

Frodo left the library and wandered aimlessly across the grounds, feeling a little more peaceful, and sure that Sam would come and find him when he had finished with the stables. Sure enough, he hadn’t been wandering for more than ten minutes when a voice came from behind him,

“Sir?” Frodo turned and found Sam cradling a basket.

“Hullo Sam,” he said, “What are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m done at the stables, sir, and I thought you might like to take tea up in the forest. It’s nice and cool up there and a pretty sight.”

“Did you forget we’re to visit Bilbo this afternoon?” Frodo laughed.

“Nay. Mr. Bilbo suggested it. He come to the stables and we had a few words, see. He said we could visit him some other time.”

“Oh? Is he feeling unwell or tired out?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Poor old dear,” Frodo sighed, “but really, I wonder if I should try and get a bit of writing in? We’re getting near enough to being caught up.” Sam shifted his basket and gave Frodo an imploring look. It was the kind that he knew could melt Frodo, and he was careful to use it sparingly. The effect on Frodo was immediate.

“But then again, you’ve been so kind packing a basket, haven’t you?” Frodo smiled, “oh Sam. I can’t bear disappointing you.”

“You’ll take tea up on the ridge with me?” Sam asked brightening. Frodo stepped close and tucked his arm around Sam’s.

“Yes. The writing can wait. And having tea with you under the trees sounds so lovely,” Frodo said, “in any case, maybe I should stretch my legs a bit.”

They walked up the path ascending into the trees above the falls. Sam carried the basket and whistled a bit but they mostly remained silent. When they reached a nice spot Sam laid the blanket down and unpacked the tea things. They ate and drank tea and talked about what they had done that day.

“Oh, I meant to show you,” Frodo said, pulling the autograph book from his small pack. He held it out and Sam took it gingerly, opening the front cover.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“The librarian said it’s called an autograph book. You give it to friends and they write something short in it. It’s for remembrances.”

“Oh, it’s a fine book,” Sam said running his hands over the binding, “Are you going to have folks write in it?”

“Well yes. I hoped you might write something,” Frodo said and pulled a quill and ink bottle from his pack, holding them out. Sam stared back at him nervously.

“What would I write?” he asked biting his lip, “And my handwriting isn’t fit for any book.”

“Your handwriting is quite fine,” Frodo insisted, “And it’s about the spirit of the person doing the writing. That’s what’s important,” Frodo closed his eyes, “Write your troll song if you wish.”

“Oh not that,” Sam muttered leaning back to think, “But I’ll write something sir. I’ll just need a bit of time.”

“We’ve all afternoon,” Frodo said lazily. He yawned and lay down, his back cushioned by the picnic blanket and the soft heather beneath it. “I might just take a nap while you write.”

“Yes sir,” came Sam’s response. Frodo closed his eyes and drifted off.

When he awoke he didn’t quite know where he was for a moment, then seeing the trees and the picnic blanket under him Frodo relaxed, remembering. He sighed happily and was about to drift off again when he realized the light was nearly gone. Deep oranges of twilight hung about him, and the sky had gone pail.

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

“Sir?” Sam asked, from off to his left. Frodo turned his head and saw that Sam had stretched out, lying on his back looking up into the treetops. Frodo almost sat up, but his body was still feeling sleepy and uncooperative, so he stayed still.

“I’ve slept away the whole afternoon,” he said.

“It’s not such a bad thing now and again,” Sam said, “Besides, you probably needed it.”

“You must have been bored. You should have woken me,” Frodo murmured, his eyes wanting to drift shut again.

“I wouldn’t have done that. Anyway, I had time to think and write,” Sam said musingly.

“Oh?” Frodo said suddenly feeling more awake and pleased, “Will you read it for me later? I’m afraid if you read it now I’d fall asleep again. It’s so lovely here.”

“Aye, it’s like when we first came into the valley and couldn’t keep our eyes open,” Sam said frowning, “Elf magic I guess.”

“Whatever it is it’s very strong up here,” Frodo murmured. He really didn’t want to fall asleep again. Instead he frowned, remembering the morning and his promise to himself that he would apologize to Sam.

“I wanted to thank you for putting up with my indiscretions these past few days,” Frodo finally said, “You’re really very understanding with me.” Not much of an apology, Frodo thought. Sam turned his head to stare at him a moment, bewildered, then blinked rapidly and looked away.

“I’m not minding,” he mumbled shyly. Frodo wanted desperately to leave it there, but felt he owed Sam something more and made another attempt.

“I’m glad, but I don’t ever want my comfort to be your discomfort,” Frodo said quietly, wincing at his words. He was about to go on but Sam stopped him.

“Don’t fear on that,” he said frowning and pausing, as if steeling himself. “The truth of it is that I could use a bit of comforting myself, and we had best take what we can before this hard journey starts.”

“Oh yes, I suppose that’s right,” Frodo said feeling his face burn. He hadn’t thought that Sam might need this closeness as well; it had seemed more likely that Sam was indulging him, even if they did share a genuine affection for one another. This put a slightly different light on the situation. Frodo felt a sudden nervousness bubble up through him.

“You don’t mind? Then, you like it?” he asked quietly almost to himself. Sam stared, his ear tips going red. Frodo was beginning to feel that he was a very poor listener when it came to Sam. He stared at Sam and Sam gulped.

“Aye,” he said, a little defensively. Frodo closed his eyes his thoughts in conflict. He had promised he would restrain his actions, but now…

“I like it too, Sam,” he said slowly, “I wonder if we might,” he broke off and opened his eyes looking searchingly at Sam. The prospect was too tempting. “Could we…?” he asked. Sam’s expression softened.

“Of course,” he said, his voice thoughtful and moved closer, draping an arm around Frodo’s back. Frodo similarly put an arm around Sam’s side and sighed, the sleepiness settling back on him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam didn’t answer and Frodo thought perhaps he hadn’t heard, but then Sam leaned forward just a bit and laid a kiss against his forehead. Frodo felt the sweetness of it pierce him, and for a moment he lay still, savoring the feeling and the closeness, his eyes half open.

He wondered how it was that this hobbit that had been so near, just outside in the garden most of the time, had been so overlooked. And how was it now that this same familiar presence could draw such deep love from his heart in a way that he’d never felt.

The simple answer was that this was not the same Sam that weeded the vegetables. It was not the same Sam that Frodo had gently teased on summer mornings, or even the Sam that had crouched on his study floor shaking from a wizard’s threat on that morning in April. This was not his gardener.

Frodo felt a shiver go through him at that thought. Bilbo had been right, he realized. It wasn’t just that out here distinctions of the Shire mattered less, but that things buried deep rose up.

_Why, before my adventure I would have never thought myself a burglar._

_And before my adventures what did I think of myself?_ Frodo wondered. Had he, like Bilbo lived in a foggy dream of a world, until the fateful morning when a wizard shook him from his comfortable life and cast him out into danger and adventure?

_I wouldn’t have thought I’d love my gardener,_ Frodo thought suddenly. That was a difficult thought, for love was hard enough without the horrors of a hopeless journey and dragging your dear one through misery.

_But I need him and I know that he must come, _Frodo thought slowly._ I will be content with Gandalf’s choice and with Sam’s. My pity and fear for them all is such a small thing, compared to the horror that could befall the world if I fail. _

He’d sat in Elrond’s sanctum and listened as the Elf told him as much, days before. Gandalf had been there as well; the three of them locked away in the quiet chamber of Elrond’s hall. It had been cold there, despite a roaring fire in the hearth.

“Gandalf said that we will place our faith in the friendship of hobbits,” Elrond had said, “even over the faith that we might set in an Elf lord, and so we shall.” Frodo stared back up at him. Elrond had wanted to send two Elf lords in Merry and Pippin’s place. He hadn’t forgotten that. “The more I have seen of you four, the more I come to understand Gandalf’s wisdom. My doubts have gone, save for one point. Where is your heart in all this?”

“My heart?” Frodo asked. He paused, caught off guard by the question. He took a breath. “They will come whether I give them leave or no. I tried to leave them once,” he turned his tone light, “but they are wiley and resourceful. You might have set about to send them home, but I would have told you to be on your guard. I put very little past them.”

“Frodo,” Gandalf murmured. Frodo fell silent. Gandalf could see through his hobbit jokes. Silence stretched.

“I am very afraid for them. For my cousins and for Sam,” Frodo said quietly, “my heart is full of that fear.”

“I brought you here to caution you against that fear,” Elrond said, “Do not allow it to rule you. There is more at stake here than their lives. Your duty is heavy and you will need them.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Elrond murmured. Frodo tensed and didn’t answer as the two stared down at him.

“In your deepest need and darkest fear and greatest peril,” Gandalf said quietly, “do not cast aside love and aid and devotion.”

“If I don’t, then I am allowing him to share in my death,” Frodo said, his voice breaking. Elrond blinked, but Gandalf didn’t look at all surprised.

“Nothing is certain,” Gandalf replied gently, “and you can’t see all ends, Frodo. Not for yourself and not for Sam, either.”

But Frodo did see death ahead. His desire to protect Sam and his cousins was deep and not easily abandoned. He could feel his heart beginning to harden to the task given to him, but he still couldn’t bear the pain of their deaths. And he feared most for Sam, for it would be Sam that would hold to him the closest and most stubbornly.

_Death isn’t certain, is it? Gandalf said so. At least, his death isn’t certain, perhaps..._

Sam shifted his arm, and Frodo felt a touch at his cheek. He glanced up and saw a murky unreadable expression in Sam’s eyes. Frodo wanted to say something reassuring, something that would dissolve that strange apprehension he sensed in Sam, but he couldn’t find his words. Sam’s fingers curled around his cheek and Sam quivered. Frodo took a breath and all of his worries fell away, his focus entirely on Sam.

_He wants to kiss me,_ Frodo realized. He doubted himself for a moment, but then the doubt dissolved. No he was certain of it. Sam wanted to kiss him.

His thoughts went soft around the edges and he was having a hard time focusing on anything other than Sam's slightly parted lips. Being kissed by Sam suddenly seemed delightfully appealing and all the fear and horror and anxiety he had been feeling a moment ago faded; not forgotten exactly, but in this moment, Sam mattered so much more.

Frodo leaned in, turning his face up, drawing Sam closer. Their noses brushed and Sam let out a soft sound, his warm breath tickling across Frodo's cheek. Sam blinked at him, frozen in place and wide-eyed. Frodo watched him, puzzled.

He thought he'd been clear enough- a nose nuzzle was one of the oldest hobbit flirtations, a clear invitation for a kiss. But maybe Sam had taken it as an accidental touch. That wouldn't do. Frodo held his gaze, and gently touched his nose to Sam's, and rubbed slow, tracing light circles with his nose tip. Sam shivered and nuzzled back. He gazed into Sam's face, pleased to see joy there. When Sam leaned in, Frodo met him, and their lips touched.

It was barely a kiss, warm lips touching, retreating, and touching again. Sam's mouth opened just enough for Frodo to fit his bottom lip into the space. It was all warm ticklish touches, and so sweet and slow and gentle. He wouldn't have expected anything else from Sam. He laughed lightly, thrilled and full of delight.

“Oh,” Sam said in a small voice. Frodo smiled helplessly. He found himself suddenly warm with images of his tween years and the various romantic encounters he had engaged in. This kiss opened some very fascinating avenues to be explored with Sam.

“Sam?” Frodo said gently.

“Yes?”

“That was very nice,” he told him, “thank you.” Sam glanced back at him quickly and looked away again.

“It’s not something I’d do lightly, if you understand,” he mumbled, “Only I care for you so.” Frodo’s smile faded and he felt the seriousness of Sam’s tone.

“And I care for you so,” he said quietly. “I know it isn’t done lightly. It couldn’t be done lightly,” he gazed down at Sam’s hand, which had fallen to his chest, “by either of us.” This got Sam’s attention, for he suddenly looked up again, dazed. Frodo peered back at him, hoping that Sam would understand the emotions boiling up inside him, even if his face didn’t show them. Sam swallowed hard and winced, then put his arm around Frodo’s back and embraced him. It was a tight embrace, almost squeezing the air from Frodo’s lungs, but he smiled at it. Sam tilted his face up and awkwardly pressed a kiss to the bridge of Frodo’s nose.

He closed his eyes and wound his own arms around Sam, letting his hands run gently up and down Sam’s back. Frodo was enchanted, and if he was honest, just a bit aroused. Kissing and then being held tight by such a sturdy handsome hobbit- it was enough to get anyone a little warm, he supposed. Yet if he were to pursue something so weighty with Sam he felt for both their sakes, then an understanding of what they were doing, needed to be made plain.

“Sam,” he murmured, “Do you know what this is?” he asked, fearing the answer he might get. Sam pulled back a bit and looked down helplessly, his brown eyes opened wide.

“Is it love?” he asked quietly. Frodo let out a shaky breath. A better answer than he had expected.

“Yes, though I can only speak for myself,” he said. Sam’s eyes rounded.

“Me too,” he said, his voice full of awe. Frodo remembered to breathe and let his eyes shut, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. His head dropped forward so that it rested gently against Sam’s forehead. Sam tilted his face up so that their noses touched again and waited.

“Why didn’t we do this before?” Frodo asked quietly. He knew the reasons, but he couldn’t help but say it. It was an ache.

“We weren’t exactly kissing friends before,” Sam said smiling.

“Not just the kissing,” Frodo murmured, “I should have spent more time with you. I'm so sorry I wasted all that time.”

“Wasn’t wasted,” Sam said quietly, “I loved my life in the Shire. Being with my family, working in your garden, the simple things like that,” he paused, “No, not wasted time at all.” Frodo opened his eyes and gazed at Sam, his vision full of Sam’s face, coloured by the soft twilight.

“I suppose,” he murmured and pressed his lips to Sam’s, kissing him again. Sam’s arms close round him and held tight. His mouth was wonderfully warm and soft, Frodo thought. And the way Sam kissed him, tender yet insistent and hungry, drove Frodo to moan into the kiss, something he couldn’t remember ever doing before. They lay together for a time, Frodo couldn’t have said how long, touching and learning one another.

“Oh,” Frodo breathed, pulling back to catch his breath.

“Oh,” Sam agreed, his face flushed, “Ah. I wonder. Maybe we should head back,” he went a deeper shade of red, “I mean, doing this out here is a little… Ah. That is anyone could walk by.”

“It is a bit indiscreet,” Frodo admitted smiling, “Yes, you’re right.”

“That’s my thinking,” Sam said and scowled, “And I haven’t any mind for making a show for some elves or anyone else.”

“Me either,” Frodo agreed pulling away. He wholeheartedly agreed with Sam but he couldn’t help but feel a lingering loss. He had a feeling that initiating any sort of romantic mood with Sam might be difficult, as they were so accustomed to treating one another as they always had. They walked back down the hill stealing glances at one another, smiling when the other caught him at it and went to supper.

. . .

Sam stared at the food laid before him and blanched. He wanted nothing more than to go quickly off to some place quiet and think long and hard about what he had just done. The noise of the hall was nearly unbearable, and the only saving grace was that Frodo had been whisked away by some elf to meet more foreigners and sit with them. Sam didn’t think he could have stood sitting by Frodo and pretending nothing had changed between them.

“Sam?” It was Pippin, sitting next to him. Sam looked up and saw Pippin’s eyes wide and worried.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked. Sam tried to smile faintly. He must really look bad if Pippin had noticed.

“Nothing sir, I just feel off my feed,” he said.

“No,” Pippin breathed in horror, “Do you need to lie down?”

“I would like that,” Sam said, “But I can’t leave the hall. Folks will wonder,” he said and frowned. Sam loathed being noticed by such grand people, and hadn’t known how much he liked being able to fade into the background, as he had in the Shire, especially at Grand Events full of gentry. Pippin put a comforting hand on his back and rose, looking thoughtful.

“Come on, I’ll keep any attention off you. And if anyone has the audacity to question us I’ll put them off,” he said sticking his nose in the air, “We’re the Ring-bearer’s chief companions after all,” he said. Sam smiled faintly and rose to follow him out of the hall. He hoped Frodo wouldn’t see him leave and come looking for him, at least not for a while. He felt dizzy and his face seemed to be stuck in a permanent flush.

“You’re staying with Frodo aren’t you?” Pippin asked quietly as they walked down the empty halls towards their quarters.

“Yes,” Sam answered, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he thought it did and glanced at Pippin, half sure that the other would make some comment, but he remained mercifully silent. They found themselves in front of Frodo’s room and Pippin opened the door for him and went to light the candles inside. Sam stepped into the bedroom and sat on a wide seat near the door, too dizzy to do much else. Pippin silently lit each lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow, then stood for a moment in silence, before going to Sam and sitting by him.

“Sam, what is it?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t rightly say,” Sam said. It was true on two counts, he didn’t understand the feelings welling up in him and he couldn’t bring himself to speak on them. Not yet. Pippin put a hand to his forehead.

“Poor thing, you’re hot,” he murmured, “Do you want me to get an elf?”

“No, please don’t,” Sam said quickly, “I’ll be alright,” he tried to look reassuring, “I just get nervous being treated so grandly with all those Big Folk milling around us, watching us.” Pippin made a face.

“I know, it’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?” he said, “I wonder if they know how loud they are when they walk and breathe!” Sam chuckled.

“I don’t think they do Mr. Pippin,” he said and patted Pippin’s hand, “You go on back and finish your supper. I’ll be alright now.”

“Are you sure?” Pippin asked cocking his head, “I don’t mind sitting with you,” he paused and peered at Sam, “or I could go get Frodo if you like.” Sam took a breath.

“No, leave Mr. Frodo be. He ought not have to worry over me.”

“Sam,” Pippin said frowning, “We have to take care of one another now.”

“Yes sir, I know,” Sam said quickly, forestalling a lecture he knew he probably deserved, “But I am really feeling much better and I don’t want to keep anyone from their vittles.” Pippin studied him then sighed.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” he said, “But if you feel worse send an elf for me and I’ll come take care of you.” Sam had to smile at a sudden memory from years ago when Frodo had fallen ill and Pippin’s promise to ‘take care of him’ had ended with Frodo buried under blankets, sodden with spilled tea and a floor spattered with vegetable soup.

“You’ll take care of me, will you?” Sam said, a hint of teasing in his voice. Pippin grinned.

“Yes. Well, you would take care of me wouldn’t you?” he asked.

“Yes I would,” Sam said, the teasing tone gone. Pippin made a pleased sound and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for a quick one-armed hug.

“Goodnight Sam,” he said rising, “I hope you feel better.”

“Thank you Mr. Pippin,” Sam said. Pippin gave him a brief smile and went out, closing the door behind him.

Sam sighed, looking at the softly lit room. The brief feeling of comfortable companionship shared with Pippin was already beginning to fade, leaving him with the memories of the afternoon. It wasn’t that they were unpleasant, far from it, but the questions they raised in him made Sam recoil.

“Why’d you do it Sam Gamgee?” he asked himself, digging his knuckles into his eyes. The answer was clear even as he asked it. As he had looked into Frodo’s face, clouded with fear and doubt and emotions Sam didn’t know the name for, he couldn’t help but reach out for him. But this time it wasn’t taking his hand; the same act of comfort had instead become a kiss.

“He liked it,” Sam breathed. Yes, Frodo had liked it, and the knowledge of that set a fire burning in him, making him tremble and his heart pound. It seemed unfathomable that Frodo should have liked it, but there was no denying the fervor with which Frodo had returned the kiss, the way his body coiled in pleasure, or the heat that had built between them. And that moan as they kissed; Sam caught his breath and closed his eyes remembering that sound, and the hot bolt of desire that had flared in him at that cry. Sam stopped pacing and put a hand to his forehead before shaking himself and going to the door.

“Aye Sam you’ve a fever of some sort,” he mumbled to himself, “The kind a bath might fix.”

How his bold act had changed their relationship, what it would mean now that they had to go off on this dangerous journey, and what it would ultimately mean for the both of them was all pushed aside from Sam’s mind. He was going to take a bath and leave the worries he couldn’t help be.

. . .

Dinner was the usual event, with heaped platters and singing in the hall, but Frodo felt distanced from it, only vaguely engaged in conversation and eating bits of whatever landed on his plate. When he was finished he stood and looked for Sam, but didn’t see him. He stared despondently about the hall wondering what he should do.

“Hey there Frodo,” a voice said from behind him and a steady hand settled at his back. Frodo turned to see Merry peering at him, a little smile on his lips, “Join me for an after dinner smoke?” he asked. Frodo’s first instinct was to claim fatigue and go off to his room, but he sensed an anxiety in Merry’s eyes and so instead smiled and accepted the offer.

They exited the hall and found themselves out on one of the high terraces, overlooking the river. Merry leaned on the rail and took out his pipe and weed. Frodo busied himself with his own pipe and soon they were contentedly puffing out little clouds of smoke, staring across the gurgling water.

“It will be soon, won’t it?” Merry asked softly. It took Frodo a moment to realize Merry was talking about the journey. He nodded, not moving his gaze.

“I think so,” he said.

“Are you alright?” Merry asked, hesitancy in his voice.

“Yes,” Frodo replied evenly, “It’s healing over now.”

“I didn’t just mean that,” Merry said, chancing a wary gaze at his cousin. Frodo returned the look, his heart softening at Merry’s apprehension.

“I’m alright,” he said. Merry smiled, looking at least partially reassured.

“I didn’t want to have Sam trussing you up on the pony again,” he said, “Especially since that’s the only way you can passably ride.” Frodo squinted at him.

“I’ll have you know, I’m five times the rider you are,” he said.

“Oh bull,” Merry laughed. It was as if Frodo could feel Merry easing into this comfortable conversation.

“Speaking of Sam, you two seem to be spending a fair amount of time together.”

“We like each other's company,” Frodo said, eyeing Merry and wondering just how much Merry had noticed. Merry raised his eyebrows. “What?” Frodo demanded.

“Before dinner, when you two came down from the ridge, I've never seen you look so besotted. You almost walked into a wall, you know. If Sam hadn't grabbed your collar you would have.”

“What?” Frodo asked, his heart pounding with embarrassment, “I was distracted. I get that way sometimes. Tales. We were talking about tales, and...”

“Frodo.”

“Oh drat you Meriadoc,” Frodo growled. Merry only chuckled.

“Out with it.”

“It's none of your business, you know.”

“True. But I still want to know,” Merry said in reasonable tones. “Come on Frodo, please? It's me,” he wheedled. Frodo sighed.

“Sam and I... We have recognized a certain… reciprocal sentiment. A closeness between us, and the understanding has developed. Ah. Grown a bit. And it’s come to the point where it's got a bit of a physical quality to it. In a manner of speaking,” he added nervously. Merry blinked.

“Bless you Frodo, that’s the driest description of love that I’ve ever heard,” he said, amused. Frodo flushed and stared at the floor. “Might be useful, I suppose,” he added.

“Useful?” Frodo asked. He felt the edges of cold settle around his heart. He didn’t want to see Sam’s love as a useful tool in this journey. It was a gift, with a life of its own. He glanced at Merry.

_Does he see this all in terms of calculations?_

Merry cocked his head and peered back.

“A little less awkward when he catches you rubbing your cock at night,” he said. Frodo sputtered in surprise and felt the cold around his heart vanish. A flush rose up into his cheeks.

“Merry!” he hissed.

“And he might offer to help,” Merry added brightly. Frodo pursed his lips trying to look stern, but he failed and snorted. Merry laughed, throwing his arms around Frodo. Frodo hugged him back and then broke into laughter himself. There was wetness at the corners of his eyes and a feeling like relief washed over him.

“You ridiculous Brandybuck!”

“I am not!” Merry sniffed, “practical.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“No? Are you thinking we’ll have to give it up when we’re on the road?”

“Well,” Frodo said slowly, “It’s one thing to chance something being overheard among friends, but we’ll be traveling with the wisest and best heroes of this land. Not to mention Gandalf who I’ll wager has the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a dog.” Merry shrugged.

“I’ve no intention of giving it up.”

“You say that now, but wait until you’re trying to be sneaky around a wizard. Can’t be done. Ask Sam.”

“Sam wasn't wanking. I assume, anyway.”

“Merry,” Frodo growled.

“Hobbits are the sneakiest, and Brandybucks the sneakiest of all the hobbits.”

“The Tooks would dispute that I think.”

“The Tooks dispute everything.”

“True.”

“The way I see it,” Merry continued, “if these people are so wise then they’ll recognize the need that we hobbits have for this sort of thing, especially in times of hardship.” Frodo hid his face in his hands. “As for Gandalf, he should know about hobbits by now. He traveled with uncle Bilbo and those dwarves. You can't tell me old Bilbo never took a liberty with himself or with one of those dwarves in all that time.”

“Somehow those details didn't make it into the Red Book,” Frodo said mildly.

“In your version. Bilbo made more than one version of that book.”

“Are you saying he has a version featuring _sordid accounts_?”

“What do you think, Frodo Baggins?”

“Hm,” Frodo coughed, “I decline to speculate,” he said primly. Merry snorted and laughed, and Frodo joined in. It felt good to laugh.

“Incidentally, I’m very happy for you,” Merry said. Frodo cast a warm look at him.

“Thank you. But I’m not sure yet what it all means. We only kissed a bit and spoke of love between us. I’m not sure what might happen.”

“Don’t stifle it, Frodo. Don’t,” Merry said with an edge of seriousness, “let it grow.”

“I won’t stifle it,” Frodo said quietly, “I couldn’t bear to do that.”

“Good.”

You know,” he sighed, relaxing, “Some might think it very silly to be so taken up with love matters when we are facing something as hard as this task before us.”

“Some people are stuffy asses,” Merry said leaning back, “I think we keep things in proper prospective. And sex on the road, whether done with a partner or not, is good for us.”

“I won’t argue that,” Frodo said smiling a little. “But while taking pleasure on the road might be needful, having it in a proper bed with privacy is vastly preferable. And we have little time to enjoy such.”

“Now that is true. I think I'll heed your wisdom and retire for the evening,” Merry said.

“Oh. Well. Good night, then,” Frodo said as Merry snuffed his pipe and moved away, down the terrace.

“Good night Frodo. Do you have similar plans?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Good night Merry,” Frodo said again, more forcefully.

“What a lot of things you do use good night for!” Merry sang out as he disappeared. Frodo chuckled despite himself and snuffed his pipe as he walked back along the corridors to his own chambers. On a whim he stopped by one of the bathing pools and shucking his clothing, slipped into the warm spring. He kicked off from the wall and swam to the other side of the small pool and tucked himself under a rock wall that rose up some twenty feet before becoming the foundation for another chamber. Finding a comfortable position Frodo leaned back and looked up at the stars.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the events of the afternoon had truly happened. How could it be that Sam had kissed him?

“I really don’t know him,” Frodo whispered sadly to himself. Well that could be remedied, and learning Sam was a much brighter prospect than the rest of the tasks appointed to him. Frodo took a shuddering breath and turned his mind away from that. The journey terrified him and it was only the fortitude he had learned over the past month and the knowledge of those that stood with him that kept Frodo from snapping the chain at his neck and throwing it into the river. He splashed absently and watched the moonlight reflect off the water’s surface. The spring water was much warmer than the usual mountain spring, but it was not quite as warm as bath water, and he was beginning to feel the chill of the air on his skin. He slipped back down into the water taking a quick breath and swam swiftly back to the other side. He pulled himself up onto the dry stone floor and dressed quickly, then padded quietly toward his room.

As Frodo passed the proper bathing chamber, located on the main hallway where the hobbit’s rooms were, he noticed a light from under the door and from faintly within he could discern a low voice singing a well-known tune. Frodo smiled. So that was where Sam had gotten off to, he thought. He was tempted to press his ear to the door and listen to the song but he dismissed it and continued on to his room.

As he entered, Frodo shook the water from his hair and went about changing for bed. He made to go sit at the window seat but stopped short when he noticed his bag, slumped against the wall near the door and remembered the autograph book inside. He made a pleased hum and retrieved it, rooting in his bag for the article as he went to the window. Taking it in hand he leaned against the window frame and opened the book to the first page.

Sam’s methodical penmanship with its somewhat large letters stared back up at him, etched in Winterberry nut-brown ink. Really his handwriting was nice, Frodo thought gazing at the rather graceful loops, and he began to read the script, a short song or poem,

_In Western lands beneath the sun the flowers may rise in spring_

_The trees may bud the waters run, the merry finches sing_

_O’er there may be a cloudless night and swaying beeches bear_

_the elven stars as jewels white amid their branching hair._

-Samwise Gamgee, Number 3 Bagshot Row, Hobbiton in the Shire

It really was quite a nice little poem, Frodo thought, reading it again, though perhaps unexpected from Sam. He wouldn’t have thought the him one for flowery descriptions or such clear word pictures, even if it were of a natural subject. But then perhaps it was inspired by all the elvish hymns he’d been listening to.

Frodo glanced up, hearing Sam enter the room, closing the door softly behind him. Sam stopped when he saw the book in Frodo’s hands, and though Frodo could still see the shyness in Sam’s expression he could also see pride in his eyes, enough to make Sam break the silence.

“What do you think sir?” he asked. Frodo glanced back down at the poem.

“It’s very nice. It puts me in mind of home and peaceful spring nights smoking out of doors. Thank you Sam,” he said.

“It’s just a little thing I’ve been thinking up this past week or so,” Sam murmured, “I don’t think it’s quite done yet, but I gave you what I have of it so far.”

“Oh, so there may be another verse?” Frodo asked tracing the lines with his fingers, “Yes, I think that might be a good idea. Have you a tune for it?”

“No,” Sam said going red.

“Hmm,” Frodo considered the problem, “Something cheery perhaps? It’s almost a walking type song.” But Sam shook his head immediately.

“No, beg your pardon, I don’t think it’s a cheery song,” he frowned and came to sit by Frodo on the window seat looking down at his words, “I think it’s a remembering song. It’s like your book remembers people, this song remembers the lands we’ve left or are soon to leave. I think it’s a sad song.”

“I see,” Frodo said softly and closed his eyes. He sat in silence thinking.

It was a sad song, and at the root of it, a longing for the lands of the west and for peace and beauty. The words glowed with the love he knew Sam felt for these things, and yet Sam was leaving them, leaving them of his own free will to toil in darkness toward an unknown and most likely hard end.

Usually the thought of it caused guilt to grip him, but now Frodo felt something different, a sort of profound warmth. Sam understood his options and still chose to come with him, and it humbled Frodo to think that Sam had enough faith in him to leave the lands he adored, to forsake the beauty of the elves and to go on until those things were only a memory to draw strength from.

“Yes, I think I feel that now,” he said slowly, as if coming out of a deep sleep, “It’s rather like something I said to Gandalf that April morning. I told him that as long as the Shire was safe behind me I would have the strength to go on, just knowing such a good place existed, even if I can never return there.”

“Yes sir, that’s my feeling,” Sam said. Frodo glanced at him, and then drew himself up, feeling a sudden awkwardness. With that rush of understanding and love, had come the memory of that afternoon, of the two of them pressed together, each kiss still hot in his mind. Frodo felt as if he were suddenly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“Are you ready for bed?” he heard himself ask. Sam looked up.

“Yes,” he said and stood, and walked to the bed. Frodo followed and climbed up after him, his thoughts in a whirl.

_Does he want to continue with what we started this afternoon, or was that enough for today? Kissing is one thing, but now… What does he expect from me? _Frodo wondered, _I’m no blushing tween but I’m hardly experienced, and what of Sam, how experienced is he? And should I start it or would that be assuming too much? _Frodo caught his breath, feeling his heart thumping and a nervous hollowness opened up in his stomach. He sat still for a moment, trying to gather himself together. The bed shifted beside him and Frodo glanced over at Sam, to see him adjusting the pillow. Sam looked up at him with the slightest hint of a questioning smile as Frodo stared at him. Though Sam looked a little nervous, there was warmth in that smile, and in his eyes, perhaps even love.

_I want him,_ Frodo thought feeling heat rising in him. _More than that, I want to please him, love him._ Some of the nervousness melted and he turned away and leaned over to the bedside table and blew out the candle. Frodo wondered if he should have; candlelight might have been rather nice, and it might have alerted Sam to his intentions. Frodo settled down under the covers. Still, there was quite a lot of moonlight in the room and after a moment of his eyes adjusting Frodo could see fairly well.

Steeling his courage he turned and found Sam curled on his side, looking at him apprehensively. Frodo felt the tension in his shoulders pinch as he turned to lie on his side, carefully maintaining a good two feet of space between them. They stared at one another.

There had never been much awkwardness between them and Frodo found it disconcerting as he lay, wondering if he should do something.

_He’s waiting, _Frodo thought, _He’s waiting for me to take the lead, as I always have. He may have come a long way from the Shire but he still looks to me for guidance, even in this._ Slowly, Frodo reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He was planning on moving in carefully, and lying close, just as they had on other nights, but before he could Sam sighed and rushed forward, grasping him in a tight embrace.

“Oh,” Frodo breathed surprised.

“Sorry!” Sam gasped and loosened his grip, sounding surprised at himself, “ah, I didn’t hurt your poor shoulder did I?” Frodo chuckled, and held Sam’s arms in place.

“No my dear. And you were in the right,” he said quietly, and though it was dark, Frodo thought he could see colour come into Sam’s cheeks.

“My… dear?” he asked softly. Frodo hummed.

“My dear. My darling Sam,” he murmured then paused and he grinned, “And what will you call me now?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Well now. That’s a puzzle. I suppose Mr. Gandalf did say as I ought to call you Mr. Underhill on this journey.”

“Samwise Gamgee you wouldn’t!” Frodo gasped laughing. Sam embraced him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Frodo caught his breath and grinned.

“Do you suppose m'dear will serve?” Sam murmured, “when we’re a being tender with each other?”

“I would like that very much,” Frodo sighed, nuzzling closer. He took Sam’s hands into his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, looking up into his eyes. “I adore you, so.” Sam’s lips drew together and his eyes took on a thoughtful look as he raised a hand and slid his fingers into Frodo’s hair. He seemed to struggle for a moment as he soothed the curls at Frodo’s nape.

“I don’t have the words,” he said quietly after a moment. Frodo drew closer.

“Never mind words,” he said, “just,” Frodo took a breath, “just come here.” Sam sniffed and bent his neck, drawing close enough that their foreheads touched. Frodo’s eyes slipped shut. He felt undone as Sam’s trembling hand moved from his nape to his cheek, running a thumb daringly to brush his lower lip. He sighed, trying to remember if he had ever seen Sam shake like this and decided he hadn’t, just as Sam’s lips brushed against his own. He leaned into the kiss and let his lips part as the warmth of Sam’s mouth sweetly inundated his senses. He drew back after a moment and gazed into Sam’s eyes.

His life was completely changed from what it had been, barely a month before, and those changes terrified him. This change between himself and Sam was no exception, though the fear eased each time he looked into Sam’s eyes. This one magnificent change had begun to kindle something in him, something warm and solid and strong.

“How far do you want to go?” Frodo asked softly, caught between not wanting to overwhelm Sam, and his own desire. Sam took a breath, his eyes rounding.

“How far do you want?” he asked. Frodo was silent a moment, pondering his answer.

“I want to lay with you,” he said slowly, “But only if it’s what you want. And we needn’t be hasty.” Sam watched him closely.

“I’m a bit shy. I know we haven’t got time on our side and I do want it,” he said quietly and ducked his head, “I’ve wanted this so.” Frodo wound himself tighter around Sam. “Might we ease into this? Kiss and be gentle with each other tonight? And work up to more, as it were?”

“I’m shy too. And that sounds lovely,” he said quietly. Frodo stroked his cheek and leaned up to kiss Sam’s forehead.

. . .

They spent the next week exploring this change between them. Darkness faded back from Frodo’s heart. Despite the heavy weight of what was to come, his hobbit nature told him that Sam was more important of a concern now. And he was too enamored to resist that instinct in any case.

Bilbo had instituted a rule that they must take afternoons to relax together, and neither Sam or Frodo had made any protest. Afternoons had become their time to court one another.

One afternoon, late in the week, they stopped over in Sam’s peaceful glade once more. They sat on the bench, curling together. Sam had kissed his neck and carressed him and nibbled at his ear. Frodo had giggled at first, until the heat and longing had grown and his giggles turned into gasps and quiet sounds of pleasure. When Sam eased back, they shared a look between them. Something had shifted, deepened. He wanted to take Sam to his bed and lay with him, and he saw an answer to his desire in Sam’s eyes.

That night when they lay down together, the charge between them sparked once more. Sam kissed him as soon as he sat on the bed, and Frodo clasped him close.

“Shall we do a bit more tonight?” Sam murmured in his ear. Frodo drew back and looked into his eyes.

“Yes, please,” he said.

“How much more you feeling up to?” Sam breathed, excitement in his face.

“I want to go to completion,” Frodo said, nervous and thrilled.

“May I give it to you?” Sam asked.

“That would be wonderful. Completion at your hands. If that is something you want too? Can I offer you the same?”

“Yes,” Sam quivered, “hands? Then?”

“Yes,” Frodo stroked his chest, “let’s go slow?”

“Aye.”

It was, Frodo thought, the most exquisite and tender experience of his life. They lay together side by side and touched and kissed for a deliciously long time, their movements gentle and affectionate. Frodo felt himself calm and soothed by Sam’s touches, touches that might have come from his dear in the past; but now were delivered with such an assurance of welcome and with Sam’s openly adoring expression. As time went on they became bolder with one another, caressing bellies and thighs, but still continued the slow rhythm they had built between them.

When finally Sam slid his hand between Frodo’s legs they were both extremely hard and had become mostly undressed through the course of their explorative caresses. Frodo let out a sigh of pleasure and tried to remain still as Sam touched him, rolling his shirt up and over his head, careful to not disturb his bandage. As he did, Frodo tucked the Ring on its chain around to hang behind him. He knew that it was his duty to keep it on him, but he didn’t want it between them. Sam whispered endearments into Frodo’s curls, drawing his attention back, and leaned down to kiss him and gaze into his eyes. Frodo gazed back astounded. The weight of the Ring on his mind and on his body was constant, even now, but Sam’s touch and the love in his eyes, made that weight easier to bear.

They took a short break to find something to ease the friction of Sam’s hands on him. Frodo offered his athelas oil, which earned him a scolding from Sam.

“That is for your shoulder,” Sam sniffed, “and don’t go putting strange plant oils on sensitive skin. You don’t know what all will happen.”

“Too late. I do know. I’ve tried it,” Frodo admitted. Sam blinked and snorted. Frodo laughed and curled into his side.

“Naughty hobbit. That wasn’t altogether a good idea,” Sam growled and kissed him.

“I was desperate and not terribly mobile at that time,” Frodo said with a blush, “and no. I get very silly when I’m… hm.”

“Do you then? Well. I’ll have to look out for that.”

They found some plain safflower oil that had been set aside for Frodo to massage into his arm and hand. He had neglected to do any such thing and so the bottle was full. Sam uncorked it and poured a bit into his hand before reaching down once more. His scolding melted into tenderness as he took up his task once more. Frodo leaned back, luxuriating in the feeling of Sam’s oiled hand pleasuring him. His breathing hitched and he gasped and whimpered as the minutes slipped by, unnoticed by either hobbit.

“Can I finish it for you?” Sam whispered after a time, “I want to. I want to see you.” Frodo closed his eyes and moaned, panting with desire now. He nodded and spread his legs, offering himself to Sam’s touch. Sam seemed to be greatly affected by this and claimed a heated kiss before returning his attention to Frodo’s pleasure. Sam’s sure fist moved up and down his cock, and Frodo felt his hips thrust into his grip. Sam let out a soft excited murmured as he looked up to meet Frodo’s eyes.

He gripped Frodo’s shaft firmly and worked it, allowing his other hand to slide underneath to massage his stones. It only took a bit of this before Frodo’s body coiled and with a cry he came. Sam’s arms went around him as he took great shuddering breaths, swept away by the power of his pleasure.

“Oh,” he gasped against Sam’s shoulder, “it was so lovely.” He turned his head slightly, “I’ve never loved like that.” Sam kissed his cheek and began to rub his side. The blinding euphoria began to slowly drift away and Frodo smiled at the heat he felt from Sam, the unresolved but patient tension. Very slowly Frodo moved his hand down between them and found the hot length that pressed into him.

“Samwise,” he murmured. Sam whimpered and Frodo opened his eyes to see Sam gazing at him with an expression of intense desire.

“I’ve always loved the way you say my name,” Sam murmured dreamily. Frodo smiled and leaned close to him and whispered,

“Would you like to hear me say it as I come? Next time I think.” He couldn’t quite believe he had said that aloud but the effect on Sam was well worth it.

Frodo sat up and poured oil into his hand, before lying back down and taking Sam in hand. Sam was sweetly flushed, as he thrust in small uncontrolled motions. He gasped and whimpered as Frodo worked.

“That’s it,” Frodo cooed, “my darling Sam.”

Sam pressed hard against his hand and moaned, his whole body shaking as he came. Frodo held him, as Sam had done for him, and gently stroked his hair with his clean hand as he drifted down from release. Sam let out another whimper of pleasure and lay still.

They stayed like that, silent and content for a few minutes until Frodo pulled away and, feeling gingerly around on the bedside table found a pocket-handkerchief he had laid out for the next day. He burrowed back under the warm covers and gently cleaned them both. He almost quoted one of Bilbo’s aphorisms about always keeping pocket handkerchiefs about one’s person, but decided the situation was probably not what Bilbo had had in mind. Instead he nuzzled Sam’s shoulder and Sam, interpreting the touch, pulled his arm up and slid it around Frodo, to hold him. Frodo sighed happily.

“There is so much darkness in the world, and I ought to be dreading what awaits me,” he murmured quietly. Sam turned and studied his face closely in the dim light. Frodo shifted closer to Sam and looked up into his face, and continued in a softer voice, “but in this instant I can only feel happiness.” Sam took his hand and kissed it. “Sam, I’m so very glad,” Frodo whispered.

“Oh,” Sam murmured, “I know what you mean. It’s everything, all the light and beauty of the world wrapped up and put inside me.” Frodo smiled and stroked his curls. They lay close together and shared a few more kisses but Frodo soon found himself nodding off. He wrapped his arms around Sam and sighed happily as Sam tucked his face against his neck, delivering one last sleepy kiss.

. . .

Frodo strolled out into the predawn light and leaned against a stone pillar at the pond side pavilion, looking out over the mist filled grounds of Elrond’s gardens.

The red and gold leaves had gone now, replaced by stark bare trunks and limbs, pale against the dark rock of the mountain. He looked down across the still pond before him. There were leaves here though, fallen to the water’s glassy surface, set there bright against the dark water.

Above the water, there was a rustle as a squirrel leapt onto a branch, and a pinecone tumbled down landing with a plop in the pond, sending ripples across the surface. Frodo let out a breath, a calm resoluteness growing in his heart.

Even here in this hidden sheltered place, change would come. Darkness too, someday, if he remained. Frodo lifted his gaze from the peace of the garden up to the mountain sides that rose to the southeast and to the dawn sky beyond. He would leave this place soon.

Bird song rose around him and the breeze picked up. The day was beginning. Frodo pulled his pipe and pipe weed pouch from his pocket and filled and lit it. He puffed meditatively for a moment until a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Good morning,” Bilbo called to get Frodo’s attention as he trotted up from the left passage. Frodo looked up and nodded a greeting as Bilbo eased himself down into a nearby bench.

“Good morning,” Frodo said turning to smile at his uncle.

“You are certainly up early,” Bilbo said, “If I recall you liked your mornings spent in bed. Your shoulder isn’t hurting you is it?”

“Really uncle, I’m not a tween anymore,” Frodo said grinning, “And my shoulder has almost healed. I was just a bit restless this morning.”

“What sort of restless?” Bilbo asked frowning, “And by the way, pipe smoking really is a rather nasty habit you know.” Frodo snorted.

“And one I’ll have to give up all too soon,” he said, “Oh, I don’t know which sort of restless I am. I’m not unsettled. In fact I’m feeling rather peaceful truth be told, just awake and vigilant.” Bilbo breathed in the cool air and exhaled it slowly.

“It is the feeling before an adventure,” he said quietly, “You stand ready to cast yourself out into the world, into danger and horror, and though it scares you, there is something about it that is undeniably attractive.” Frodo glanced at his uncle, who gazed out into the foggy trees looking wistful and almost young again and felt a deep sadness well up in him.

“I wish I was going with you,” Bilbo said quietly. Frodo blinked and seemed to come back into himself. He turned and smiled at Bilbo, reaching down to take his hand.

“No you don’t,” he said.

“No, I suppose not,” Bilbo said, looking down and rubbed his hand fondly. “And you don’t feel the same way I do about adventure,” he said, “Perhaps if it were a different sort you would, but even so, I don’t think you’ve ever had the love for it that I do. You like a quiet life.” Frodo felt a stinging in his eyes but smiled.

“It’s all that Took in you Bilbo dear, that makes you talk like that. I’ve too much Brandybuck in me.”

“Yes, all that responsibility and willfulness,” Bilbo said and paused, “To each his own. Perhaps we suit our circumstances better than we thought. And as Gandalf would say, there is some comfort to be taken in that.” Frodo took a shuddering breath.

“There is.”

“And comfort in those you take along for the journey,” Bilbo added quietly. Frodo closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he said.

“It is worth knowing in your darkest times that you go with people who love you and that you come from a place untouched by evil, true evil that is, and the land of our birth has shaped you in ways that make you unfathomable to our enemy. Remember the Shire and keep it in your heart.” Frodo smiled, a genuine warm smile and sat down beside his uncle. He moved close, and Bilbo put his arm around him. Frodo set his head on Bilbo’s shoulder, as he had done so many times when he’d been younger. Bilbo squeezed him gently.

“I love you so, my darling boy.”

“And I love you,” Frodo said quietly. They sat together in the quiet of the garden, warm dawn light spreading over the grounds. Frodo closed his eyes, his heart full.

Each memory, of the streams and fields, the friendly faces and cozy holes, the long warm nights, crisp dawns and sun soaked afternoons, would be a talisman against the talisman at his chest. Each would protect him, grant him one more day, one more minute of strength, and when he had exhausted his fifty year memory store of the places he loved best, what then?

Then he would still have Sam.


End file.
